


Bitter and Twisted

by SnowCrazy15



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: Bottom Inquisitor, Communication via Sex, Inquisitor Backstory, M/M, Nasty Trevelyan, POV Dorian Pavus, POV Inquisitor, Sassy Trevelyan, Twisted Trevelyan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-14 08:37:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5736904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowCrazy15/pseuds/SnowCrazy15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamish Trevelyan should not be a hero in the eyes of Thedas. Bad tempered, foul mouthed and a generally unpleasant young man, his only hope of finding entertainment during his time as Inquisitor comes in the form of a dark skinned Tevinter. Where as love is a turn of phrase, sex seems to be the only means of communication between the two - but every language can be learned, and Dorian discovers there is more darkness then light in his new lover. The only question is; can Hamish find the light?</p><p>*Dark and Twisted Inquisitor, and lots of sex. Just so you know. M/M*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue Part One

Author: SnowCrazy15 (Fyrefly12 on DeviantArt/Fyrefly12 on FF.net)  
Game: Dragon Age Inquisition  
Characters/Pairing: Dorian/Trevelyan  
Disclaimer: All settings and characters belong to Bioware. Hamish is a creation of my own imagination, with aspects created in Bioware's universe.

**TW: Drugs and Sex**

 

His eyes were cast down, as always. The lower he held his head, the more his raven fringe covered his face and the less of the mess he had to endure. He could feel the stickiness on his skin, could smell the rotten decay of the caves around him. His hand ached. It ached every time he closed a rift. 

No one could see through the fingerless leather gloves he wore that the green magic had spread to his wrist. 

It ate at him, and sometimes the pain was unbearable. Luckily, the pain mostly came at night where he could hide his face under the bedroll. Tears were but a distant memory, and they would never spill of course. Couldn't let anyone see those, dear Maker. 

“Hamish?”

He turned, flicking his head to move his hair. The cave they were in was dank and stunk of mould, but enough light filtered through the cracks in the rock that they could see where they were. The demons were still crackling and twitching around them. Hamish stepped over a fallen Wraith, it's body still fizzing and popping with ice. 

The fucker had caught him in the shoulder with an ice bolt, but he ignored it for the moment. Nothing he couldn't heal later. 

“What?” he asked, stepping closer to Varric. The dwarf was on his knees, making him look even more ridiculous, but he held a rag to Dorian's face. 

Hamish leaned forward, examining the gash on the Tevinter's cheek. Dorian had his eyes closed, obviously in pain. 

Hamish clucked his tongue. 

“That's it? Come on, Dorian,” he said sarcastically. “Man up.”

Dorian's eyes snapped open and Hamish gave the mage a smirk before standing straight and moving back to where he'd chucked his pack when the fight broke out. He ruffled around inside, hissing when his finger caught on a shattered phial of lyrium. 

“Stupid fucking thing...”

Hamish threw his pack back over his shoulder and made a move towards the exit of the cave. He could hear the others scrambling to follow, but he couldn't care less if they caught up or not. Caves had always given him the shivers. Not that he had been in many, of course. 

Life in the Circle was like that.

Hamish could hear Varric muttering to Cassandra about something, but he paid no attention. Instead he straightened his black leather armour and rolled his shoulder. That ice really hit his nerves. It's what had put him in a black mood, and the others were wise enough to stay the hell away. 

When he'd been sent to the Conclave, he certainly hadn't expected to become some saviour, and he certainly wouldn't act like one. 

Day by day, the others were asking him more, what should they do, where should they go? Hey, wasn't it those people that had him in shackles not a couple of weeks ago, ready to hand him over as the scapegoat?

The more he thought about it, the more black his mood got. And trudging through the Hinterlands didn't help one iota. His boot caught on a root at one point, and without thinking, Hamish had sent a fireball at the tree, sending it up in sparks. 

He'd glanced behind him and saw the disapproving look from the Seeker. She wore that look every single time she looked at him. The Seeker of the Just, the Holiest of Holy's with a permanent stick up her arse. She hated him, because he represented everything wrong with the world, apparently. But the damn woman wouldn't leave him alone. Every time they left Haven, Cassandra would be there. The shackles may be gone, but the chains had never left. 

“Well, I would say the tree deserved it, standing there all majestic and harmless. Always keep your vigilance, hm?”

Hamish let out a sharp breath, choosing to ignore the man who had somehow slipped beside him. 

“Not in the mood, Dorian.”

“Obviously. And that's why I decided you needed company.”

Hamish bit the inside of the circular piece of metal that wound around his lip. The piercing had been something stupid and reckless, which fit him just perfectly. And it had irritated the Enchanters in the Circle to no end. 

“I suppose telling you to fuck off wouldn't sway you?” said Hamish darkly. 

Dorian irritatingly gave him a chuckle and twirled his staff in his hands. 

“What a filthy mouth you have. Didn't those mother hens at the Circle teach you any manners?”

Hamish bit the piercing to stop a smirk. 

“Darling, you have no _idea_ how filthy my mouth is.”

Hamish let a smirk break through when he caught a glimpse of Dorian's face. The man had been with them for a matter of days, and yet he had intrigued the young mage to the point where he decided to stir the pot. Most people backed away quite quickly from Hamish. He was 'unapproachable', unsociable, and mostly just an arse hole. 

“Well,” said Dorian after a few moments. “That is something I'll have to investigate.”

Hamish raised an eyebrow, stopping suddenly. A quick glance told him that Varric and Cassandra were about twenty paces behind. Those little legs didn't move very fast. 

Dorian stopped in front of him, leaning on his staff and giving the Circle mage a once over. Hamish did the same, practically leering. Dorian wore tight robes, revealing too much of his toned chest. He stood a good foot taller than Hamish. Everyone usually stood taller than Hamish. He'd always thought himself having more of an elven figure. Slight, slim, feminine. But he wore it to his advantage, and the sway in his hips would turn enough heads. He couldn't count the amount of men he'd 'turned' in the Circle. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” purred Hamish, stepping a little too close. “You'll be biting off far too much than you can chew.”

Dorian met him stance for stance, leaning in even closer. 

“I've always enjoyed a challenge, _sweetheart_.”

That little thrill of heat ran down his stomach. It was like a drug to him, that burst of heat. He would crave it more and more, usually during the chase. The end result wasn't always as satisfying, but from the fuckable look Dorian gave him, he imagined the end result would be rather delightful. 

“Don't say I didn't warn you.”

Dorian smirked, reaching his hand to Hamish's neck. The mage felt the rough touch of a nail to his skin, and it sent a ripple of gooseflesh down the right side of his body. 

“We'll continue this, Hamish.”

Hamish reached up and grabbed the collar of Dorian's shirt, yanking it none too gently, bringing their faces even closer. 

“Now that, I don't doubt, Dorian.”

Hamish smirked again, just a tug of the lips, before letting the man go. Varric had just climbed over a little rock and now stood close. Hamish stepped back and away from the man, carrying on towards their camp. 

 

Bolts of icy pain travelled down his arm and Hamish ground his teeth. He sat huddled in his tent, his right hand gripping his left arm so tight that it stopped the blood flowing to his fingertips. It didn't help the biting pain or ease the electric green glow that radiated from his palm, but he needed to do _something_ that made him feel in control.

When it didn't ease after a few more minutes, Hamish got to his feet and slammed his hand into the hard wooden trunk. It hurt, but it was a different kind of pain to focus on. 

The light flickered and then burned brighter. Hamish was getting to the point that he was willing to rip his own arm off when he remembered something he'd found that day. 

Like a whore reaching for the junk of another customer, Hamish grabbed his pack and tipped it up, shaking it so violently that all the phials shattered as they connected with the ground. Books and materials and all the shit he didn't need cluttered the tent, but Hamish kicked it all out of the way until he found the little leaf he'd been looking for. 

The smell of it instantly filled his nose and he grabbed the leaf, bringing it to his nose. Just the smell of it calmed him down enough that his hands stopped shaking so hard. 

He lit his other palm with fire and cast the light over the scattered contents of his pack until he found the little wooden box. Sitting where he stood, Hamish put the leaf on his knee and yanked open the box. Inside were rough cuts of thin paper and wispy looking tendrils of brown that smelled like earth. 

He rolled the leaf and put it in the middle of a bit of the paper. Then he scattered some of the fluffy brown moss into it and skilfully rolled them together, sealing it with his spit. Having the stick of white in his hand made his head spin with excitement. Anything to get rid of this pain. 

Hamish scurried to his feet and ducked out of his tent. It wasn't too late, so some of the people in the camp were still milling about. He saw Cassandra sitting by the fire, running a whetstone over her sword. He scoffed at her and slipped into the shadows, moving out and away from the camp. He climbed up a small rise and into a small cluster of trees. He could still see the lights of the camp just below, but he was sure he couldn't be seen any more. 

The young mage moved into the centre of the cluster and put the white stick between his lips. He was so giddy with the rush of what was to come that when he called on fire, his whole hand went up in flame. It didn't matter, though, and Hamish brought the end of the stick to the flame and sucked hard. 

The smoke instantly filled his lungs as he dragged it in, and holding it for a few breaths, Hamish let the smoke out with a quite moan. 

The effects were instant, travelling from his lungs down into his stomach and up into his arms. He could feel it spreading through him, like one would feel a poison running through their veins. He took another long drag, and held it for longer, loving that feeling of bliss clouding his mind. 

The smell of the leaf he was burning swirled around him, as did the smoke, and he revelled in it all. 

His body felt light, the pain in his arm was dimming. Everything seemed beautiful in that one moment, even the twigs sticking into his arse. Hamish chuckled to himself and fell back, putting the white stick between his teeth as he spread his arms wide. He could see the night sky from where he lay, the stars shimmering against the black. 

He never got to see the stars in the Tower. 

“Isn't this a pathetic display?”

Hamish would usually have been on his feet, ready with a spiteful retort on his tongue. Instead he just turned his head, taking another long drag and putting the stick between his fingers. He smiled as Dorian walked closer into the clearing. Hamish blew out the smoke in Dorian's direction, but the Tevinter didn't cough and blow it away like anyone else would have. 

Instead he breathed the smoke in deeply through his nose and then shook his head. 

“What are you, fifteen?”

“Closer to fifteen than you, old man.”

Dorian scoffed and kicked Hamish's boot, but the young mage just chuckled. He kept his eyes on the Tevinter as the man put his staff against a trunk and moved to sit just next to him. Hamish brought the stick back to his lips and took another long pull, holding it in his lungs before offering it to the man next to him. 

Dorian eyed the rollie dubiously, his eyes flickering from what Hamish offered to Hamish's face, before reluctantly taking it from him. Hamish blew out another lungful of smoke, humming under his breath as his body started to completely relax. 

He didn't take his eyes off Dorian, though. He didn't know if the man was going to smoke it or throw it. Hamish could guarantee that Dorian would take some damage if he threw it, though. Thankfully, Dorian put the rollie between his lips and took a tentative drag of it. The end lit up red as he did so, and Hamish felt another idiotic smirk on his lips. 

Dorian grimaced slightly, but Hamish had to give it to him, the man held the smoke in his lungs longer than he'd expected. 

The Tevinter blew out the smoke slowly at first, and then coughed out the rest. 

“Lightweight.”

Dorian scowled as he passed the rollie back, and Hamish was still smirking as he put it back between his teeth. 

“How old are you, anyway?”

Hamish turned his head slightly, already inhaling more of the delicious numbness. 

“Younger than you.”

“It's never wise to continuously insult a mage, Hamish.”

Hamish put his left arm behind his head and stuck out his tongue. 

“Bite me.”

“Is that an offer?” 

Hamish nearly swallowed the rollie, and he was suddenly reminded of their earlier conversation. He rolled onto his side, facing the man. Dorian was leaning against another trunk, his legs laid out before him. Hamish let his eyes linger, as if he was contemplating whether he was offering something or not. Of course he was, but it was never good to seem too eager. 

“It depends...” he said slowly, wrapping his lips around the rollie and taking another deep breath of it. Everything was numb now, just how he liked it. “How hard do you bite, Dorian?”

Dorian's eyes seemed to be darker now, making them seem almost black. 

Hamish smirked, thinking he'd tempted the man too far. Maybe even put him off. That wasn't the case, he soon found out, because Dorian was grabbing his wrist none too gently and yanking him up. Hamish would have protested if the Tevinter hadn't moved him onto his lap. Hamish let out a surprised breath, realising he was straddling this man he didn't even know. 

It wouldn't have been the first time, he told himself. 

Hamish sat back and smirked, bringing the rollie back to his lips as if Dorian hadn't interrupted him whatsoever. 

“Didn't think you had in it you, sweetheart,” teased the young mage, breathing the smoke into Dorian's face. He put the rollie to the man's lips, and Dorian's eyes never left his own as he took a drag. 

Hamish felt that heat in his stomach again and he rolled his shoulders. There was nothing better than sex while high. It didn't happen often in the Circle. The leaves were hard to get hold of, and the Enchanters never revealed that the leaf they added to poultices was just as potent when smoked. They always labelled it as a 'healing agent'. Laughable. 

“Is this the only way you relax, Hamish?” asked Dorian quietly, nodding his head back to the rollie that was back between the mage's teeth. Hamish took one last drag and flicked the butt of it away. 

He didn't give Dorian an answer, instead leaning down and bringing their lips together. 

Dorian answered eagerly, opening his mouth. Hamish decided to push his luck, breathing the smoke in his lungs into Dorian's mouth. The Tevinter surprised him again, inhaling it easily whilst letting his tongue lick over Hamish's lower lip. 

Hamish groaned, loving the way this man was surprising him. He arched his back, rolling his hips teasingly over the Tevinter's lap. 

Dorian hissed, his hands on Hamish's hips, unsure whether to still the smaller mage or make him do it harder. Hamish chuckled, pressing his chest against Dorian's and forcing the man harder against the tree trunk. 

“Last chance, Dorian.”

Dorian smirked, the finely trimmed hair above his lip looking far too tantalizing for Hamish to handle in his inebriated state. Then those strong hands were running up Hamish's back, pressing hard into the leather armour wrapped around his body. Hamish let out another breath, humming as he did so.

When one of those hands grabbed a handful of Hamish's midnight hair, the young mage was pleasantly surprised. Then Dorian pulled Hamish's head back, exposing his neck. 

The moan that escaped his lips was instant, and was quickly followed by Dorian's lips on his pale neck. He arched his back into the submission of his predicament. Dorian had matched him comment for comment, move for move. He shouldn't have been surprised when this man matched him intimately. 

Hamish pressed his hips down hard on Dorian's lap, wanting at least some idea whether Dorian was putting this on, or it was what he wanted. 

“I knew a shit like you once before,” muttered the Tevinter against Hamish's neck. The Herald had no words on his tongue to reply as Dorian was still forcing his head back. It didn't hurt, not like the pain in his hand. No, this was sending electricity down every single nerve, and Hamish was stunned from it. 

“A little brat who thought he stood atop the world,” continued Dorian, each word followed by a brush of his lips. Hamish pulled his head forward, trying to fight against the control Dorian was trying take from him. Hamish never gave control over without a fight.


	2. Prologue Part Two

But Dorian's hand had a strong grip, and it only tightened in his hair as he struggled. Hamish let out a low growl, but it mingled with the breathy edge that revealed he was enjoying this a little too much. 

“Did you put him in his place like a good little Tevinter?” asked Hamish sarcastically, giving Dorian a hooded look before biting the piece of metal in his lip. 

Dorian chuckled, sitting forward. Even doubled over, Dorian was still taller than he was, and he could still keep eye contact. 

“Oh darling... the things I did to that little bastard... you couldn't even imagine.”

Hamish chuckled under his breath, giving another hard tug which tore his hair out of Dorian's grasp. He leaned forward, close enough that their lips hovered just inches apart. 

“If you think you're going to tame me, darling, I would suggest you think again.”

Hamish didn’t notice the little hitch in Dorian's breathing. He could see from the man's expression that he'd sucked him in. But Hamish wasn't lying. No one had been able to tame him, because he was always one step ahead. Hamish gave the man a look which should have explained it all. No strings. No attachment. Just sex that would blow his mind. 

As far as he could tell, Dorian understood.

"So are we going to do something about this, or are you going to continue to give me lip?"

Hamish smirked, moving to bite none too gently on Dorian's jaw. The Tevinter hissed again and bucked his hips, pressing against the bulge in Hamish's leather greaves.

"Depends how far you want to take this, sweetheart."

Dorian pulled back and gave him a pout that Hamish just knew he'd practiced time and time again. Hamish just raised an eyebrow. That look certainly wasn't going to work on him. And Dorian knew it. 

Hamish was suddenly thrust to his feet, the Tevinter had far more strength than he let on, decided the young mage.

Hamish enjoyed the show of strength, but standing on his feet when he had an itch that thoroughly needed to be scratched wasn't his prefect way of getting off. He put a hand on his hip and raised an eyebrow, watching Dorian as the man sat back and just studied him.

"Changed your mind?" asked Hamish sarcastically. He'd be pretty damn pissed if Dorian turned him away now, especially as he'd got the young mage all wound up. 

Dorian hummed under his breath, seemingly taking in every detail of the mage before him.

"Strip."

Hamish let out a surprised bark of laughter.

"Come again?"

"Well if all goes well, I thoroughly intend to. Strip."

Hamish had his hand on his hip, but he had to admit that he was intrigued by this man. He hummed in the back of his throat, deciding to take up this challenge. It wasn't as if he was modest, after all.

Hamish reached to the buckles around his waist, keeping his eyes on Dorian as he slowly started to undo the belts. Hamish loved his armour, all leather. All black.

Dorian's eyes watched every single move Hamish's hands made, and Hamish reveled under all of the attention. Yes, this was what he liked. He'd strip a hundred times if he kept getting looks like that.

He slipped the first layer of his leathers over his head, starting on the under layers. He slipped off his jacket, his leather breast plate. Hamish didn't know if Dorian realised it, but the Tevinter was sitting further and further forward with each piece of clothing that came off.

Hamish kept his fingerless leather gloves on, ones that covered his wrists, but he took off the bracers. Finally he pulled his thin tunic over his head and held it in one hand, hanging there temptingly. 

He could feel the slight breeze on his bare torso, but the numbness spreading through his body kept him warm. Dorian’s eyes were drinking him in, and Hamish could understand why. 

It wasn’t that he was in love with himself, although he did know that he was attractive. He had a slight frame, thin. His skin was deathly pale, probably from the lack of nutrients in his diet. Hamish did have a thing for sweets, after all. 

Dorian’s eyes were skimming over every inch of him, and Hamish was practically preening under the attention. He put his hand on his hip again, leaning to one side and raising a perfectly arched raven eyebrow. 

“I’m surprised you have a tattoo.”

Hamish gave the man a small smirk, glancing at his right shoulder. The tattoo was an intricate runic design that he’d created himself with a mash up of different wards that he’d found in some ancient tome at the Circle. The tattoo wound from his chest, up and over his shoulder and down his back. The rune on his shoulder was his favourite, a mixture of swirls and dots that was supposedly a ward against demons. He couldn’t say that it worked, but it was his own idiotic sense of comfort, he supposed. 

“I’m full of surprises,” he said slowly, another smirk creeping up his face. He dropped his tunic on the floor and crossed his arms. 

“And the rest?” asked Dorian in a tone that had a slight edge to it. Hamish didn’t know whether the flash of goose bumps was from the cold, or the temptation of utter competency in Dorian’s voice. Hamish chuckled under his breath. 

He put up his index finger and tsked in time with three side-way motions. 

“Ah, ah, ah. You don’t get something for nothing in this life, sweetheart. Especially with me. Your turn.”

Dorian’s face flashed with a moment of irritation but was quickly replaced with a smooth smile. Hamish half expected the man to get up and walk away, but Dorian kept his eyes focused solely on the Herald as he got to his feet. 

“I have a feeling this isn’t your first role in the dirt, hm?” said Dorian slowly as those tanned hands moved to the buckles around his waist. Hamish kept his arms crossed as he watched Dorian undoing the buckle that held the armour on his shoulder. Dorian deliberately took a step away from him – as if Hamish would lose control and reach for a grab before he was ‘allowed’.

Hamish chuckled, giving the necromancer an unimpressed look. Yes, he knew these tactics. Yes, he’d practiced these himself. And they usually worked. When there was nothing in view except unblemished skin and raw sexuality. 

Dorian gave Hamish the first genuine smile, and the Herald had to admit that it suited the man. Dorian was obviously impressed with him. Maybe he was trying to throw Hamish through a couple of loops, but Hamish certainly wouldn’t jump until he was damn well ready. 

The first layers were off. 

Dorian stood in his under layers, a long sleeveless tunic that ran past his groin. Hamish looked down slowly, enjoying the enticing glimpses of skin. He wouldn’t truly appreciate those muscles until they were under his tongue though, and he was getting impatient. 

Hamish hooked his fingers under the lip of his own greaves, pushing them down a little to reveal the dip in his pelvic bones. 

Dorian’s hands, which had been working on the straps around his waist, stopped ever so briefly. Hamish clucked his tongue and the necromancer scowled slightly, yanking at the buckles before chucking them by the tree. Hamish bit his lower lip, gesturing for the man to continue. 

The Tevinter reached behind his back and pulled the tunic off in one swift motion. Hamish surprised himself by sucking in a sharp breath. 

Well, the necromancer certainly hid those muscles well. 

Dorian’s body was incredibly toned. He was thinner than first thought, but those muscles told a story that replayed behind Hamish’s eyelids. Against Hamish, Dorian would look huge. 

Luckily, Hamish preferred to bottom. 

“Enjoying the view?” asked Dorian sarcastically, chucking his tunic back with all the buckles. Now they both stood in nothing but their greaves, and Dorian’s were a lot tighter than Hamish’s. 

The young mage licked his lower lip, just as Dorian stalked towards him. He expected to be grabbed, to be touched, but the Tevinter did no such thing. Instead he started a small circle around Hamish, piercing the Herald’s pale skin with those dark eyes. 

Under scrutiny, was he? Hamish rolled his eyes and kept his stance relaxed, even though he felt a prickle on the back of his neck as Dorian moved around to his back. 

“Not to your liking, sweetheart?”

Dorian chuckled under his breath, just as something cold brushed the small of his back. Hamish gasped at the feel of magic on his skin. It was far different from the touch of a hand, it had an edge to it, it’s own feel. And Dorian had purposely used a cold magic on him. 

The Herald’s shoulders wanted to tense. He wanted to grab Dorian and throw him to the floor, to prove that he was as good as he promised. But it felt like Dorian was putting him through another one of his little tests. It irritated Hamish, a little stab in his stomach, but he let the man continue to try and intimidate him. 

Hamish bit the inside of his lip as he felt another brush of magic. This time it was the pinch of lightning that wound around his left hip. That bit of magic had more of a bite to it, and Hamish felt an involuntary flash of heat pool in his stomach. 

Sex with a normal man could be fun. Sex with a mage? That was a whole other level of chaos. 

And Dorian was certainly promising him some chaos. 

After a few more moments, Hamish was getting bored of being scrutinised. Dorian had stopped just to the side of him. Perhaps these were more seduction tactics. Perhaps the Tevinter was just teasing. Whichever it was, the movements were dulling the excitement Hamish had felt when he’s started removing his clothes. 

If Dorian was putting on a show of magic, Hamish would happily comply.

In one quick movement of his wrist, silver magic grabbed Dorian’s body. Hamish pushed his hand forward, putting Dorian back against the tree. The man gave a surprised gasp, but Hamish hadn’t exactly done it _hard_. Well. Not too hard, anyway. 

Dorian narrowed his eyes, the magic shimmering around him faintly. Hamish was using so little magic that he hardly felt it leaving his body. 

He smirked, swaying his hips as he moved towards him. Dorian’s hands were burning purple, some kind of warning that he was letting Hamish do this out of his own curiosity. Hamish didn’t doubt that Dorian could break free if he so wished, but he hadn’t. And the Herald wasn’t going to let the man go easily. Not when there was so much skin rippling in front of him. 

“Hush now, sweetheart. I did warn you.”

Dorian’s face was slightly shadowed by the tree’s branches, but the young mage saw a flash of white. 

“If this is all you have, I’m quite unimpressed.”

Hamish’s instant reaction to the taunt was to tighten the magic holding Dorian’s arms. He felt another spike of heat in his stomach when he heard Dorian catch his breath. Oh, he did so love hearing those kinds of reactions. 

Hamish finally stood inches from where Dorian was pinned, vulnerable. He had a new respect for the necromancer. He was letting himself be pinned by someone he hardly knew. Someone who could do practically anything.

The smirk Hamish gave the man at that thought caused the magic in Dorian’s palm to brighten, and the Herald knew he was now being timed. 

“So nervous,” hummed Hamish, moving his gloved hand to splay over Dorian’s abdomen. He moved his hand over that luscious skin, loving how Dorian’s muscles tensed under his fingers. The magic holding him was secondary now, and Hamish enjoyed the control he’d taken over this man. A man who had been determined to tame him was now writhing under his touch. 

“Don’t you trust me?” purred Hamish, pushing on Dorian’s chest an giving him a look from under his long eyelashes. 

“Oh darling,” he said with a biting smile. “Don’t give me that look. There’s nothing innocent about you.”

Hamish actually let a genuine laugh slip out, moving forward to try and cover it up. He brushed his nose over Dorian’s stomach, moving his head up so that his lips replaced the trail that his nose had made. 

He glanced up again and felt a little thrill as he saw Dorian’s eyes watching every move. At this proximity, Hamish could see every expression, he could see the thoughts whirring around the man’s head. Dorian was on that fine cusp between curiosity and madness. Of course it was mad, letting a stranger do this, but he could comfort himself with the fact that Hamish was young and his magic wasn’t yet fully developed. 

Hamish smiled against Dorian’s skin. Oh, if only he knew the full extent of Hamish’s magic. 

He heard Dorian taking a breath, no doubt to make some kind of remark, but Hamish silenced any words by letting his tongue dip out and into the curve of an abdomen muscle. 

Dorian let out a moan almost instantly. The build up was starting to pulse around them, the tension of who would win this battle. Hamish felt a spark of magic against his own. Dorian was testing the barrier that held him. Hamish quickly rebuffed that poke at his magic by strengthening his own. 

Before Dorian could react, Hamish pressed his tongue hard against the man’s skin and started a trail up onto his chest and around to his neck. He had to move to his toes so that he could reach, but at that moment he hardly cared. 

“Scared?” whispered Hamish into Dorian’s ear, following the word with a nip at the man’s ear lobe. Dorian’s breathing had become uneven, but his voice was controlled as he answered.

“Of a brat like you? Hardly.”

Hamish hadn’t been expecting the sudden rush of magic against his own, and his hold on the barrier was released, shattering in a flash of light. Strong arms were suddenly around him, lifting him like he was a feather. He was slammed into the tree, the rough bark pressing into his pale skin. Hamish let out a rush of breath, unsure if it was from the force of Dorian’s movements, or the ignition of fire in his belly. 

Dorian had one hand cupping Hamish’s arse while the other was embedding itself in his hair. Once again, Hamish’s neck was pulled back but this time Dorian’s lips were there. Hamish reacted instinctively, wrapping his legs around the man’s hips and grabbing his bare back with his gloved hands. 

Hamish hissed when he felt those teeth sink into his neck, hard enough to mark. His breath came out as a moan, and he felt a rush of magic in the air as Dorian reacted to Hamish’s reactions. 

The magic swirled around them, moving with the rush of their desire. It was invisible to the eye, but potent to the sensitive. 

Dorian’s hands seemed to be doing wonders, spreading over Hamish’s skin and leaving a trail of burning flesh in their wake. It was so much more passionate and raw than Hamish’s last endeavour. 

When he felt those wet lips on his chin, Hamish felt a little prick of reality. He sent a rush of magic outwards, enough to knock Dorian back enough for him to get his feet. The necromancer was back on him in an instant, but Hamish’s hands were now grabbing at the belt securing Dorian’s greaves. Dorian did the same, but Hamish’s fingers were more adept at unbuckling belts, and with one grand sweep, he pulled the belt free and chucked the piece of leather somewhere to the right. 

Dorian moaned at the back of his throat as Hamish wrapped his arms around the man’s neck, pulling him close, and crushing his hands between them. Hamish let his face hover over Dorian’s, their lips a mere breath apart. But he wasn’t going to kiss him, no. Kissing was… not his thing. Too messy. Tongues could be put to far better use in his opinion. 

The Herald instead nipped along Dorian’s jaw, just as he felt his belt being pulled free. 

Then those strong hands were slipping over Hamish’s hips, into the leather of his greaves and were slowly being dragged down. Hamish sighed, humming and rolling his hips, urging the man to move faster. A rush of wind told him that he was now exposed, and it didn’t take two swift kicks to have his greaves somewhere behind them. 

Dorian stepped forward, forcing Hamish back against the tree, those hands moving down and over his arse, squeezing teasingly. Hamish smirked, hooking his finger in Dorian’s trousers and forcing them down with just a lick of magic. 

“Last chance,” whispered Dorian mockingly, making Hamish smile and shake his head, his black hair falling messily over his face. 

“Bring it on.”

Dorian grabbed him once more, lifting him up easily and pinning him against the tree. Hamish hissed when he felt his length brush against Dorian’s hot skin, and the friction sent little tendrils of heat into his stomach. 

“I’m not a patient man, Dorian,” warned Hamish as he felt the Tevinter’s fingers move towards the most sensitive part of the elementalist’s body. 

Dorian cocked an eyebrow just as Hamish felt a rush of magic being summoned in Dorian’s hands. Something was suddenly against his skin, something warm, wet and slick. It was trick that Hamish hadn’t heard of before, but was very useful he thought as he felt the familiar feeling of a finger being pressed inside his body. 

Dorian let out a rush of air, moving that finger expertly. Hamish moved his head into the crook of the man’s neck and let his lips make messy trails. Small sounds were coming from the young man’s mouth, but he couldn’t help it. Dorian was moving his finger in ways that Hamish hadn’t even dreamed. But when he crooked that finger, hitting that one perfect little spot, it was so sudden that Hamish cried out. 

That sound seemed to be the limit for the necromancer, because Hamish was pushed back against the bark, his legs being pinned higher by the bulging muscles in Dorian’s arms. His sight was covered by his hair, but Hamish could see that intensity on the Tevinter’s face. It was so sexual that Hamish had to stop himself from bucking. 

Then there was something pressing against him. Something far bigger than a finger, something far harder, and something far more tantalising. 

Dorian’s eyes locked with Hamish’s, and the Herald gave Dorian the most challenging look he could. 

That was when Dorian slammed into him, making Hamish’s teeth clash. The force of it was crushing his skin against the bark, but the high that came from being fucked well and truly was more important than a few scratches. 

Dorian pulled out teasingly only to buck right back, making Hamish let out another cry. The young elemntalist lifted his gloved hands above his head as if trying to grip the bark. Dorian started a fierce rhythm, giving Hamish everything he’d asked for, and every new thrust was sending the mage to new heights. 

He couldn’t breathe through the intensity, he couldn’t stop the flames that were licking down his palms. Everything was zoning down to this one moment, this intensity that was threatening to burn down the forest they were desecrating. 

Hamish could hear Dorian’s ragged breaths, and he found himself turning his attention to the expression flittering over the necromancer’s face. Hamish didn’t like that he could see the control on the man’s face. It was a control born from years of practice, but what was control if not a chain to be broken? 

It wouldn’t be tonight, though. Hamish was already far too gone to try and break that control. But if he’d known Dorian had skills like this, he wouldn’t have waited this long to bed him. 

Dorian was speeding up, making Hamish’s body continuously slam against the bark. The Tevinter shifted his arms, shifting Hamish. Another thrust had ice spreading up the tree from Hamish’s hands. He was brushing that spot, that spot that was sparking white light behind Hamish’s eyes. The young mage had so much pent up frustration, and he hadn’t been touched like this since before the fucking conclave. 

Dorian had more strength than he first thought, because those thrusts certainly weren’t slowing. He could feel the warmth of magic on his hips where Dorian was pressing him into the bark. 

Heat was coiling in his abdomen, flickering, winding. It wouldn’t be long. Hamish didn’t give two shits whether Dorian would think less for him having low stamina, because the beauty of that release was all Hamish wanted now. He needed that new high, and Dorian was damn well going to give it to him. 

Ice was swirling around his palms, but Hamish still reached forward and grabbed Dorian’s face, pulling him closer and letting his nails dig into the hot flesh. The man’s skin was slick with sweat, his eyes hazy with that all too familiar lust. He could tell from the tension in the man’s shoulders that he was getting close too. This kind of built up guaranteed a quick ending. As long as it blew his mind, Hamish didn’t care about the speed of it. 

“That all you got?” said Hamish in broken breaths, his body still being wracked from the force of Dorian’s thrusts. 

The man was already hazy, and Hamish’s words only seemed to piss him off. Hamish just smirked in response, feeling the crackle of Dorian’s magic in the air. He was sure that the air was actually popping like a hearth. 

Dorian stopped his movements and Hamish’s face dropped. If the man left him like this without finishing what he started, then there would be one crispy Tevinter in the morning. But Dorian only lifted him higher, just as Hamish felt magic creeping over his skin. It was cold compared to the burning that was causing beads of sweat to run down his back. 

The magic held Hamish up, kept his legs up whilst Dorian moved his right hand from underneath him. 

Hamish cried out as his length was grabbed, the shock of it sending waves of lightning down to his toes. He cried out when Dorian started up his brutal pace once again, this time moving his hand along Hamish’s length in time. 

The extra stimulation was making his head spin, and it didn’t take many more thrusts until Hamish was shouting out, that coil of pressure releasing in such a rush that a burst of his magic followed. The ecstasy of it spread through his limbs in a flash, deflating him and closing off his mind to every kind of thought. 

He barely registered Dorian shouting out and let himself be caught by the man as he came down from his own high. 

The two of them stayed like that for a few heartbeats, no sound but their laboured breathing. When thoughts started to bubble again in Hamish’s mind, the mage slowly lifted his head. He tapped Dorian’s shoulder and the necromancer released the magic still holding Hamish up. 

His feet touched the ground unsteadily and he had to put his hands on Dorian’s shoulders to steady himself. 

Dorian took a long breath just as Hamish brushed the strands of hair back that clung to his sweaty forehead. 

“Better than you expected?” asked the Tevinter cockily, his voice still holding that breathless edge. Hamish chuckled and moved away from the tree. His back was stinging, there was no doubt he had a few scratches and probably a few bruises to come. 

The young mage moved to grab his tunic, using the material to clean himself before sending it up in flames. He then grabbed his greaves and hauled them on. 

“Wasn’t too bad,” he replied with small smirk, moving around the little area collecting his armour before tugging on jacket right over his bare skin. 

Dorian was now leaning against the tree, still naked, watching him. 

“So no ‘thank you’, I take it?”

Hamish chuckled again and moved over to the man. He tapped Dorian twice on the cheek, almost patronizingly. 

“Thanks. See you around.”

Dorian’s eyes widened, but he was smart enough not to say anything else as Hamish jogged away from the trees and back into the camp. The fire was flickering now, the only people awake were two lone guards sat facing the expanse of the Hinterlands. They were talking quietly to themselves and didn’t seem to notice Hamish as he slipped back into his tent. 

He dumped his armour on top of the mess he’s made earlier. The young mage sat heavily on his bedroll, feeling far more relaxed than he had before. He didn’t bother to take off his greaves. Instead he just shrugged off the jacket and lay back on the scratchy material. 

Dorian would certainly be an interesting companion, he decided. He sighed and then yawned, surprised that he would actually sleep tonight. 

Bringing his hands up to his face, he slowly pulled off the leather glove that covered his wrist, his eyes instantly turning to the jagged green mark on his hand. It mimicked the tear in the sky, the green glow still prominent as it wound over his palm. He sighed, noticing that the mark had spread just that little bit further onto his wrist. 

A mark he never wanted, that named him a saviour. A mark that was eating him alive. 

He sighed again and turned over, deciding that sleep was a better option than wondering whether this damned mark was going to eat him whole.


	3. Coming Clean

He fucking hated Haven. 

Every single time he came back, new rumours had spread and more people either tried to fall at his feet or stab him in the back. He could deal with the death threats – that was nothing new. But having stranger approach him, some even trying to touch his hair? Hamish couldn’t stand it. 

But it wasn’t just the people that annoyed the hell out of him. It was the fucking cold. And the Breech, just looming over them. Apparently it was his job to close that bastard now. He’d already sealed the rift from the sky that was letting demons pour in, and that had nearly killed him, so what more did they want from him?

To be a martyr no doubt. Well Hamish certainly wasn’t going to give up his life just because everyone expected him to. He’d die when he was good and fucking ready. 

Hamish had been ahead of his little party as they climbed towards the gates. He had his scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face and then around to create a hood against the cold. The soldier at the gates recognised him anyway though, bowing as he opened the heavy wooden gates. Hamish sent the soldier a glare, causing the young lad to jump as he noticed. 

The Herald had an advantage with his eyes. Apparently they were incredibly descriptive. The mages in the Circle always told him that his eyes held a power of their own, being so sharp. Yet something that could have been beautiful could also be intimidating, or so he’d been told. Hamish usually used them to intimidate people, seeing as they hardly approached him anyway. 

It didn’t take him long to learn how to use his eyes to his advantage. A narrowed expression could send people scattering, while a touch of a smile could send them swooning. It was quite entertaining sometimes. 

Hamish walked into the shambles of the little settlement, moving towards the hut that had been given to him. Probably because no one wanted to share with him. 

The hut had been cleaned while he’d been away, and when Hamish kicked open the door, he could feel the rush of heat meaning the little hearth had been lit. The Herald rolled his eyes as he saw rose petals scattered on the bed. Some wanton little woman no doubt trying to be seductive. He dumped his pack on the floor before waving his hand, sending a rush of wind to brush the petals off the bed and into the fire. 

The flames liked them up eagerly and Hamish smirked and pulled off his scarf. His hair fluffed in every direction, spilling over his face in a spiked mess. The Herald let out a huff of breath, the stray strands of black hair blowing back out of his eyes. 

He stood back, raising his arms above his head and stretching until he felt a pop in his back. Hamish didn’t like travelling. He couldn’t remember travelling to the Circle – he’d been a baby at the time. But never leaving the Tower, exploring every nook and cranny… he’d been safe in the Tower. Protected. 

Hamish let out a bark of laughter at his own though. Protected? In that rotting place? How could a thought like that have even crossed his mind. 

When the Templars turned on the Tower, Hamish had been the first one they sought out. He’d been in a closet at the time, teaching one of the other mages what it meant to be a man, when he heard the door slam open and loud familiar voices shouting down the hallways. 

The guy he’d had pinned to the wall grabbed him, but Hamish had pushed him back and poked his head out ever so slightly. Three of them, swords out, turning the room upside down. 

Hamish sighed as he tried to squash that memory down. No one needed to relive what it felt like to have a sword rammed through your stomach. Even now, Hamish felt that scar on his skin, even though he’d long healed it. He hated scars. 

The young mage pulled off his coat and started on the layers of his armour. Everything was sticky from blood, and he could feel the muck on his skin. He needed a bath, he needed his armour cleaned, and he needed some goddamn privacy. 

Three weeks being constantly surrounded by the Seeker who was continuously looking for a reason to tie him to a pyre. 

“Excuse me, Herald?”

Hamish glanced up just as he was pulling off his under layers. He had no tunic now, that had gone up in flames. At the thought of that, Hamish bit back a smirk. The young elven girl who stood awkwardly in the doorway was watching him with wide brown eyes. Hamish dropped his leathers on the floor and raised an eyebrow. 

“What?”

She jumped, looking like she was about to fall to her knees in apology. 

“I – I’m sorry! I’m sorry to disturb your ser, but Sister Nightingale and General Rutherford have requested you at the war room.”

Hamish scoffed, kicking his leathers across the room to the young girl. 

“Tell them to wait. And get these cleaned.”

The young girl dropped to the ground, mumbling something incoherent before scooping up his armour. Then she dashed away like he’d threatened to hang her. Hamish shook his head and scratched his bare stomach. Where were the baths in this place again?

The Herald scratched his hair, using both hands to rough up the back. Finally he grabbed a bottle from the shelf and walked from his room, uncaring that he was naked from the waist up. 

It was cold, but he didn’t exactly have anything else to wear. Josephine had tried to shove some official shit on him, but Hamish had shoved it right back. He wasn’t any kind of symbol and he wasn’t going to pretend he was. 

The looks that people gave him as he walked past ranged from scandalous to intrigued. Hamish ignored them all, moving towards the Chantry. The baths were in there, he remembered. He would just have to go straight to the upper levels rather than into the main hall. No doubt they’d drag him straight to this meeting they wanted before he could wash off the muck stuck to his pale skin. 

Just as he made a beeline to the back entrance of the Chantry – 

“Hamish!”

The Herald felt his shoulders tense. A little magic licked up his gloved palm, and he turned on his heel. 

“What?”

Josephine looked a little taken back by the barking tone to his voice. She was a nice woman, with far more intellect than she let on, but she seemed to think she was his surrogate mother and always made out as if she was the one to look after him. Josephine’s face quickly turned soft again, even though he could see the annoyance in her dark eyes. 

“You’ll catch a cold walking around like that.”

Hamish turned to face her, making sure his eyes reflected his annoyance. 

“I smell like horse and there’s blood in some ungodly places. I’m going for a bath.”

“The counsel is waiting for you in the war room, they want-”

Hamish put up his hand, stopping her short. 

“You didn’t hear me. I’m _going_ for a _bath_. The counsel can wait.”

Hamish turned on his heel and left Josephine where she stood, moving to walk around the other side of the Chantry.

He walked up to the higher levels until he found the warmer area where he could hear people and water. There were three different water rooms from what he remembered, one for the priestesses, one for the male workers, and one family bath.

Hamish listened in to the male one - people in there. The thought of being surrounded by burly workers was present, but Hamish wasn't in the mood for people. He cold hear a child's laughter in the family bath so finally he opened the door to the priestesses room. Empty.

Hamish sighed as he closed the door behind him. Well, this bath was certainly better than the others.

The room was bigger, filled with incense and mood lighting. Towels and robes were hung around, as well as a shelf dedicated to oils and smelly things. Hamish stripped himself of his greaves and boots, even glancing around before he took off his gloves.

The mark was visible, even if it wasn't hurting. It always had an eery green glow to it, like emeralds had been embedded into his skin. It had started like a green gash on his palm, but he could feel every time it expanded. It was like someone tearing open his skin with a hot poker. Now the gash had multiplied, the one on his palm more open and three smaller ones going over the heel of his hand. One of them was now spreading down his wrist. Not by much, but it definitely wasn't stopping.

Hamish sighed and tried to push that to the back of his mind. Left his clothes where they fell before walking towards the great pool-like bath in the middle of the room. It looked like it had been mostly unused. The water was near enough clear. 

The Herald dipped his foot in first, letting out a rush of breath before following with his other foot and then legs. He walked down the three little ledges before sinking into the water up to his neck, his skin flashing up in goose pimples from the sudden change in heat. He sighed again and let himself slide under, feeling the water wash through every strand of his hair. He held his breath for as long as he could, rubbing his finger through each black strand. 

When he pierced the surface again, Hamish could already feel the dirt and grime being washed away – and with it, his black mood. That was until a rush of cold air was followed by the sound of a closing door. 

Hamish immediately sent his glare up, but was quite surprised at what he saw. 

“You do know how to piss people off, don’t you ?”

Hamish huffed out a breath and moved to sit on one of the ledges, putting his arms over the lip of the pool. 

“Can a man not have a bath without being followed?” bit out the Herald, his sharp eyes still narrowed at the intruder to his moment of peace.

Dorian chuckled to himself, leaning his staff against the wall before walking to the edge of the pool. Hamish could feel the man’s eyes below the water. He wasn’t modest – the scratches from the tree on his back were evidence to that – but he wasn’t amused at being interrupted. 

“The Counsel are in quite a state at your refusal to give your report. Apparently,” said Dorian, brushing his fingers over the surface of the water. Hamish felt a sliver of magic sink into the clear liquid, and it seemed to irritate him more.

“Apparently our Commander had to restrain a certain Seeker from dragging you here by your ears.”

Hamish let out a bark of laughter at that, because the image in his head was quite an entertaining one. 

“I would like to have seen Cassandra try.” The Seeker hated him already, he wondered what would happen if he set her armour on fire. 

Dorian gave him a small smirk, lifting his wet fingers up to study them. 

“It seems I was chosen to drag you there instead.”

Hamish huffed out another breath, letting himself slip further into the water. He watched Dorian carefully, and the man watched him back. It seemed he had no intentions of dragging Hamish anywhere, but again – he was certainly welcome to try. 

“Impatient bastards,” muttered the Herald, splashing water in his face. “Give me that bottle,” he snapped impatiently, nodding to the bottle by his clothes. Dorian scoffed, but did as he was told, picking up the bottle. 

Hamish held out his hand but Dorian wasn’t in any rush to hand the bottle over. Instead, the Tevinter pulled the cork and took a whiff, his face immediately scrunching up. 

“What is _that_?”

Hamish sighed and held his hand higher.

“Soap.”

“Smells like dirt.”

Hamish rolled his eyes and clicked his fingers, drawing a frown from the Tevinter.

“What can I say? I like it dirty. Give me the bottle.”

Dorian cocked an eyebrow and gave him a leisurely glance. Hamish pursed his lips, not in the mood to be toyed with. That’s when the Tevinter sauntered around the pool towards the shelves at the back. Hamish followed him with his eyes, getting more than a little fed up. Still, he remained silent as the dark skinned man poured over the bottles on the shelf, making a triumphant noise when he found what he was looking for. 

The bottle was dark so Hamish couldn’t see what was inside, but at this point he didn’t care. He held out his hand again, waiting for the man to hand it over. Instead, Dorian put the bottle on the floor and pulled off his own long over-robe. 

“What are you doing?” snapped the Herald impatiently. 

Dorian didn’t speak, instead pulling off his under layers, stripping himself of the elaborate robes until Hamish got a good look at his body. He could see a few silver strands, scars from previous battles. Nothing that marred his caramel skin in the least. The Herald felt a little of his anger dissipate as Dorian turned around. He couldn’t stay too angry at a man with a body like that. 

“Having a bath,” said Dorian slowly, picking up the bottle and taking deliberate steps towards the pool. Hamish pushed himself back until he sat on the other side, keeping his glare up until Dorian was completely engulfed in the warm water. 

“Hmm…” hummed Dorian under his breath. Hamish felt that lick of heat in his stomach, but he was still pissed. He didn’t want to share his fucking bath. Who asked the Tevinter to turn up, anyway? Wasn’t he supposed to be dragging Hamish to the counsel rather than joining him in his rebellion?

“So far away. Afraid of me, Hamish?”

Hamish scoffed, crossing his arms as he watched the Tevinter smirk, grabbing the bottle he’d left on the side and holding it out to him. Hamish narrowed his eyes but pushed himself off the ledge and towards the man. He half expected Dorian to pull the bottle away when he reached him, but the Tevinter let Hamish take the bottle. 

He frowned, eyeing the man suspiciously before pulling the cork and taking a sniff. It was something sweet with a creamy kind of texture. It took Hamish a moment to recognise it.

“Vanilla?”

“What did you expect?” asked the man with a smile, sitting on the ledge and watching him curiously. Hamish took another sniff, not completely against the smell.

“Something fabulous, probably rose or lily or some such shit.”

Hamish sniffed it again before pouring a handful of the gloop into his palm and slapping it onto his hair. The smell seemed to explode as he rubbed it through the lengths, feeling the foam it created spreading down his neck and onto his shoulders. He sighed happily, enjoying the feel of being clean. He let his eyes flutter closed, forgetting the intruder for the moment as he enjoyed the feel of his fingers in his hair. 

Dorian chose that moment to touch his shoulder, making Hamish jump. He turned his head to glare at the man, but something stopped him. 

Hamish knew a lot of people. Especially now he was the Herald. He hadn’t had a real friend in a long time, but that was his own choice. He was used to having people glare at him, scowl, bat an eyelash, lust. But no one had ever looked at him with such a… soft expression. Like he was a normal person. Like he wasn’t just the arse hole everyone avoided. 

He felt warning bells ring in his head and was a second from backing away. Yet Dorian’s hand was still on his skin, and was starting to move in slow, calculated circles, pressing into the muscles that seemed to quiver under the touch. 

Dorian had coated his hand in more of the vanilla scented goo and was spreading it over Hamish’s pale skin, making the Herald feel like a deer caught by the soft voice of a hunter. 

Hamish’s body was taught, his mind whirring, wondering what Dorian was trying to do. The man had moved behind him now, both hands moving over Hamish’s shoulder blades, pressing hard in certain places. When those strong hands ran down his spine, Hamish felt a shiver follow, his body exploding in goose flesh once again. 

“What… what are you doing?” Hamish managed to choke out. 

“Just relax for a moment, will you? You’ll give yourself a stroke.”

Hamish frowned, letting his hands fall into the water. The suds in his hair continued to drip down his neck, into his face. Dorian’s hands were moving lower, then higher, all over his back and his muscles were weak against the stimulation. He let his head hang slightly, but his eyes were still bright, trying to understand. 

Dorian wanted sex. That had been obvious by the look he gave Hamish the moment he walked into the room. Hamish could understand that – naked people normally got that reaction. But what was this? Dorian’s kind of foreplay?

When those fingers moved over his shoulders and up his neck, a sound escaped Hamish’s lips from the back of his throat that he quickly stomped down on. There’d be none of that until he knew what Dorian wanted. 

He opened his mouth, focused on demanding an explanation, but the words never came out. Dorian had moved his hands up Hamish’s neck and into his hair. Something like a switch was flipped, the feel of another’s hands in his hair struck Hamish dumb. He couldn’t explain the rush of relaxation that came over him. He wouldn’t be able to admit that feeling the man’s fingers in his hair had hit him deep in his chest and made Hamish feel far more comfortable than he ever had with any other human being. 

So instead he stayed quiet, let his shoulders slump, and gave Dorian free reign in what he was doing. 

The man was essentially washing his hair, something that had never crossed Hamish’s mind, and yet he couldn’t find it in him to tell the Tevinter to stop. 

It felt like Dorian worked on his hair for hours, when it could have been seconds, minutes. The man hadn’t made a move to touch him anywhere else. It was almost like he was enjoying this because Hamish was enjoying it. 

That was the thought that snapped him out of his reverie. Hamish span on the spot, facing the man. Dorian looked completely relaxed, like he’d expected Hamish to turn on him any moment. His hands were still up, his hands covered in suds. 

Hamish had put on his angry-seductive face, moving closer to the man. He was shorter, so he had to look up, and he probably looked ridiculous with the foam in his hair. 

“Thought you were supposed to be dragging me to the counsel?” purred the Herald, putting his hands on Dorian’s hard chest and pushing him back until he was against the edge of the pool. He pushed on the man’s shoulders, forcing him to sit on the ledge. Dorian was watching him with a curious expression. 

“I never said I _would_.”

Hamish chuckled, moving to climb up so that his knees rested on the ledge. The water made him weightless, so he could hold himself above the other’s lap. He put his arms on either side of Dorian’s head and let his their faces hover inches apart.

“So not going to drag me kicking and screaming, hm?”

Hamish ran his lips close to Dorian’s face so that the man could feel his breath. Dorian’s breathing caught and Hamish let a smirk spread across his lips. That one little hitch told Hamish that he had this man under his thumb. It was a heady feeling, one that Hamish was used to feeling in his veins. Control. 

When Dorian leant up to press his lips to the Herald’s, Hamish instinctively brought his head back and away. The man frowned, and Hamish clucked his tongue.

“Now, now. It’s not that kind of game, sweetheart.”

“Game?” asked Dorian, seeming intrigued and annoyed at the same time. “This is a game?”

Hamish let out a sarcastic chuckle.

“Would it be anything else?”

“Do you enjoy playing games with people, Hamish? Is that how you get your kicks?”

Hamish could hear an undertone in Dorian’s voice, but he didn’t press or react. Instead he just smiled innocently, climbing off the man and ducking under the water to wash out his hair. When he pierced the surface again, Dorian was still watching him with that half-amused expression. 

“Playing games is what we do, darling. Everyone is playing with someone. Why not turn it into something entertaining?” Hamish added a slightly patronising twist to his voice, and he was glad when Dorian’s expression darkened slightly. 

“You can’t toy with people.”

Hamish smirked and raised his arms above his head, flashing his pale torso. 

“And why not?”

Dorian’s eyebrows shot up, like he’d never asked this question before. 

“You...” Dorian didn’t seem to know how to answer, making Hamish's smile widen. He used his hands to slick his hair back, opening his eyes to see Dorian watching him curiously. 

“I understand you now.”

Hamish let out a short bark of laughter. “Do you really?”

“Yes,” replied the Tevinter without missing a heartbeat. 

Hamish splayed his arms wide in invitation. “Then do tell.”

“This, this thing you do,” said Dorian, gesturing between them. “This attitude, the whole 'sex without meaning' thing – you were hurt when you were younger. Now you can't trust anyone and refuse to get romantically attached.”

Hamish let his laughter bubble past his lips, making it quite clear how ridiculous the Tevinter sounded. It didn't matter that his heart had started an uneasy rhythm, nor the fact that Dorian was on the right lines. 

“Please.” The Herald raised an eyebrow, still smirking. “Don't analyse me, Dorian. You'll only find some twisted kind of truth.”

Hamish turned and pulled himself from the pool and walked around towards the wrack of towels, wrapping one around his waist. Dorian was still watching him with that stupid expression, like he knew he'd hit the target. That pissed him off. Again.

Hamish turned to face the man, his eyes sharp, his expression wicked. 

“My turn now? You act like you own the world – money, then. But you ran away. Did daddy not approve of your lifestyle? Did mummy find out you enjoyed fucking men? Or better yet, young men. Were you too proud to live under their thumb?” Hamish could see in Dorian's face that he'd struck gold. That was a bad move for the Tevinter. 

“Oh, so I'm right. Daddy ashamed of you, Dorian? Did you embarrass him? Not the perfect little Magister he raised?”

Dorian's face was dark, to the point that Hamish felt like he should have drawn himself a shield. Instead he chuckled to himself, reaching down to grab his greaves and boots. 

“Don't try to understand someone who prefers to be misunderstood. It's just as easy to do it to you. Send my regards to dear old dad.”

Hamish opened the door and slammed it shut, his smirk falling as quickly as it came. His mood had turned black now, and as he walked he pulled on his leather greaves. Water was still dripping from his hair, but he didn't care. He moved down the stairs and out into the cold, trying to make a bee line for his hut. That was when he saw a shitstorm moving towards him with thunder in her eyes. 

“Where have you been? You were supposed to come straight to the war room.”

Hamish sent the Seeker a murderous look, but Cassandra didn’t flinch. 

“War room - _now_.”

Hamish opened his mouth to argue, the mana welling in his hand at his fury of being told what to do. He could see that Cassandra was bracing herself for a fight, her stance changing. She was going to drag him there, dead or alive. Murder blazed in her eyes. 

Hamish decided to play along, flashing the Seeker an innocent smile. 

“Oh why didn’t you just say so, silly? Come on then, duties await. Chop chop!”

Hamish turned on his heel back towards the main entrance, his poisonous smile dropping as soon as his back was turned. He pulled on his gloves as he walked, still bootless and topless. But if they wanted him to be there right now, as Cassandra had made crystal clear, then they’d have to take him as he came. 

Hamish used a burst of magic to throw the doors to the room open, drawing the attention of the ambassadors. Leliana and Cullen were leaning over the table with Josephine standing behind them, talking to someone important looking. 

The Herald walked forward, towards a chair in the corner. He sat with one leg thrown over the leg, knowing full well that everyone was watching him. 

“You wanted to see me?”

Everyone seemed stunned, but Cassandra let out a snort of disgust as she marched towards the table. She didn't even look at him as she snapped everyone out of their shocked poses. 

“Uh, yes, right. Herald, the mages have arrived. We are ready to try and close the Breach.”

The words hit him right in the gut, and for once, Hamish let a flash of his true emotions skim over his features. His heart dropped. His mark pulsed. 

Close the Breach. Fuck.


	4. Running Wild

Hamish managed to keep himself in the chair for the entire meeting. He partially listened as Cullen, Leliana and Josephine went through the plans. It would take about an hour to prepare the mages. They would leave together in a group with the men they had and go back to the Temple. 

Apparently, Hamish would have to re-open the rift connected to the Breach and seal it all. 

Just like that. 

The Herald was biting the inside of his lip so hard that by the end of the discussion, he could taste blood. 

As soon as he'd heard enough, Hamish was on his feet. He didn’t look back as he marched out of the room. Someone called to him, but he still didn’t look back. Hamish kept his face blank as he went straight for his hut. 

Slamming the door shut, the Herald noticed his armour clean on the bed. He pulled it all on, uncaring whether it was sitting right. He shoved his feet into his boots and grabbed his pack, gathering absolutely anything he'd need. 

Few coins. Watered down lyrium phial. A small bottle of potent elfroot potion. His box of wispy brown tobacco. A spare tunic. His staff.

Hamish pulled up the collar of his long jacket, grabbing his dark grey scarf as he walked towards the door. He wrapped it around his neck and then pulled it over his face, hoping that no one would notice him. He needed all of thirty minutes. 

Haven was in uproar. Everyone was preparing for the battle. Troops walked around, donning armour, waiting for swords. People were preparing for the worst, the best. 

Hamish ignored them all, walking around the back of the tavern, down the steps and around an empty stall to reach the entrance. Glancing out, Hamish could see the smithy in utter chaos. The blacksmith's voice rang over the clanging of metal, the rush of heat, the hissing of weapons being hastily assembled. 

He waited until there was no one looking, making a dash towards the wall that lined the little village, using crates for cover as he made a run for the small cluster of trees. 

Did someone call him? Shit. 

Hamish ran until his legs started to ache. His feet sank into the snow, making it harder to move. He kept his legs going until Haven was just a little noise in the background. When his foot caught on a damn tree root, Hamish went flying ass over heels. He landed in a puff of snow, but didn’t feel anything aching too much. He just felt the cold. 

He didn’t move, instead deciding that this was a good as place as any to die. He'd freeze to death. That was alright, everything would go numb eventually. 

At least he would get to chose how he died. 

A tightness started in his chest, and maybe it was just a figment of his imagination, but his mark started to ache. A little pulse, but he recognised that it would just get worse from here. He moved his hands up to cover his face, because his throat was tight, it was hard to swallow.

How did he not realise what had caused him to run like he was being chased by a demented chicken?

Fear. 

Hamish was fucking terrified. 

“Running, Hamish? That's a bit low, even for you.”

Hamish didn’t move his hands from his face, because he recognised that voice. Instead he let a frustrated sound escape his throat. 

“Why do you keep fucking following me?” snapped the Herald, moving his hands and shifting himself into a sitting position. He didn’t look up, instead he used his fingers to ruffle the snow out of his hair. 

“It so happens that I saw you running like your arse was on fire and decided to see if there was a sign for free cake, or if you were making a run for it. I see no cake.”

Hamish sighed heavily, getting to his feet and shaking the snow off his coat. 

“I'm not running for it,” he bit out, finally facing the Tevinter with as much confidence as he could put into himself. Someone near him in this kind of black mood was not wise, for either of them. 

Dorian was leaning on his staff looking every bit calm and collected, and Hamish hated it. The Herald didn't feel calm, not one fucking bit. 

“Don't look at me like that, get off your fucking high horse. You're not the one who has to close a massive great big bastard hole in the sky.”

Dorian's perfectly arched eyebrow rose, still watching Hamish with that calm expression. No, this smug wanker didn't have to worry about closing the tear. He didn’t have to worry about the pain it would cause. He didn't have a fucking clue how it would feel to have the mark spread and tear and rip open his skin as he used magic that sat like lead in the pit of his stomach. 

The Tevinter watched him like he would a skittish animal, and Hamish had never wanted to melt someone's face so much in his life.

“So you're afraid.”

Hamish turned on his heel, raising his right hand and launching a spirit ball at the mage. Dorian gasped, managing to turn to the side and watch as the magic landed in a tree, shattering it and sending splinters flying outwards. 

He turned to the Herald with wide eyes, looking completely aghast. But the burst of anger seemed to ignite something inside him, and Hamish launched another spirit ball at the Tevinter. Dorian threw up a shield and Hamish watched his magic fizzle against the shield. 

“Stop it,” snapped the older mage, but Hamish was being filled to the brim with some kind of hysteria. He span his staff and let his magic trickle into the wood, lighting it up. 

With two hands on his staff, Hamish sent a lightning bolt towards the man, watching it ricochet off the shield. He saw Dorian flinch though, so the spell had still gotten through enough to hurt him. That face gave Hamish the thrill of power. 

Now this he could control. This made sense. Anger drowned out fear, and it didn’t matter that Dorian was stopping his escape. He hadn’t even known where he was going, if he was actually running away or just trying to run from the fear.

“Hamish,” said Dorian clearly, in a tone that ran right to Hamish's toes. But the young mage wasn't giving up. Instead he raised his staff and called on his mana, creating a cloud above him. Dorian was starting to retaliate, lighting up his own staff and intensifying his shield. 

The Herald threw the storm cloud towards Dorian, lightning flashing wildly. Dorian managed to avoid the purple strands, using his shield before taking some of the magic in the air and whipping it back at Hamish. 

The Herald felt a bolt of lightning in his arm and he let out a surprised yelp, jumping back. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” shouted Dorian, obviously furious. 

Hamish felt a twisted smirk come over his face, then, changing his stance into a battle stand, ready for this fight that was coming. 

The Herald span his staff in one hand before slamming it into the ground, the force of the magic sending the snow skywards. The ground beneath them cracked and magic spread towards Dorian. The mage was wise enough to jump out of the way, but the force still knocked him backwards. 

“You are a spoiled little brat!” roared the Tevinter, finally sending a ball of shimmering purple magic at Hamish. It was a spell meant to maim, to hit him right in the chest. Hamish caught the brunt of the magic with his staff and span in a circle, sending it right back. 

Dorian let out a grunt as he was slammed into a tree. 

“That's enough!”

Hamish didn't expect the force of the next spell. It looked like a little ball of magic that he would be able to shake off, but instead it expanded and landed at his feet, sending him flying to the air. He landed heavily on his side, his staff somewhere in the trees. 

Hamish let out a groan, tasting bitter copper in his mouth. His lip stung, his body was twitching from the spell. He wasn't sure whether or not the spell was supposed to really hurt him, or just make him stop. Either way, it had done both. He groaned as he felt his hip aching from where he landed on a small rock. 

There were crunching footsteps coming towards him, Dorian's heavy breathing. Hamish was sucking in air, trying to calm his shaking muscles. 

“I understand you're afraid,” said Dorian breathlessly, kneeling down close to him. Hamish blinked his eyes open, willing the blur in his vision to go away. Dorian had come close to knocking him out cold. Hamish didn’t know whether he was pissed off or impressed. 

“But face it like a man.” Dorian grabbed his left arm and hauled him up to his feet. Hamish felt the ache in his body as he was moved against his will, and without thinking, he lashed out. His left hand caught Dorian right on the cheek. 

The mage didn't move, instead holding him in an iron grip, his dark eyes focused solely on Hamish. The Herald held up his chin, rebellion clear in his expression. 

“Get off me,” growled the young mage. Dorian continued to stare at him. Hamish imagined it was a look that terrified some people to the core, but Hamish just narrowed his eyes. 

When Dorian didn't let go, Hamish yanked his arm as hard as he could. He managed to get out of Dorian's grasp, but the necromancer was still staring at him. 

“I never asked for you to follow me, I don’t give a fuck about your opinion. Just leave me alone.”

The two of them stood there for a few heartbeats, Dorian searching Hamish's face for something. The Herald didn’t miss the flutter of emotions that came over the mage's face as he seemed to realise something. 

“You're young.”

Hamish sighed and straightened up his coat. “Your powers of observation are impeccable.”

When the mage turned to walk away, Dorian grabbed his arm and span him around. Hamish opened his mouth to protest, but he was quickly pushed against something hard. A tree. 

“How old are you?”

Hamish bore his teeth, but Dorian was holding his shoulders hard enough to bruise. He pulled Hamish back and slammed him against the tree again. 

“How old?”

Hamish reached up to push against Dorian's chest, but the man was still pinning him there. He slammed Hamish again, causing mana to spark in the young mage's palms. 

“What does it fucking matter?” he spat, swinging his arms wildly until he felt his hand connect with Dorian's face again. 

“Just tell me.”

"Why the fuck do you need to know?" snapped Hamish, struggling again in Dorian's grasp. The mage was not letting go, still staring him down.

"Because only a child would act like you are."

Hamish stopped struggling. He could have easily thrown Dorian off with magic, but he wanted to see what this was all about. If the man was here to convince him to go to the Temple, he was doing a poor job.

Hamish narrowed his eyes, searching Dorian's face. The man was pissed off at him, angry he'd been attacked but... yes, Hamish could definitely see a certain amount of fire in those dark eyes.

Hamish could use that. He could accept that. And, if anything, it might distract Hamish from the fear for a few moments in time.

The Herald decided to change tactics, turning his expression from annoyed to intrigued. Dorian's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but Hamish gave the man a slight smirk.

"Does it bother you to think I'm underage? Or does it excite you?" purred the young mage, relaxing his arms where they'd been pushing at Dorian's chest.

"Are you?" asked the Tevinter in a clipped tone, but his face had softened somewhat. The hands holding his arms didn't relax, though, and Hamish was still bracing himself for another smash against the tree.

"Does it matter? Didn't bother you before..." Hamish gave the man a wicked smile, all teeth, challenging him. Dorian was searching his face again and Hamish took the chance to turn his head, spitting the blood gathered in his mouth.

"You split my lip."

"You deserved it," tried the Tevinter in a harsh tone, but it fell a little flat. Hamish chuckled, wiping his lip with the back of his hand. Dorian squeezed his shoulders one last time before letting him go, adding a little shove for dramatic effect.

Hamish laughed again, rolling his shoulders and straightening his jacket. Dorian was already walking away and Hamish smirked to himself, glad he'd touched a nerve.

"Coward," muttered the Herald under his breath, walking to pick up his discarded staff.

When he glanced up again, Dorian had stopped dead. He had his body completely taught, his hands clenched into balls. Hamish sent a trickle of mana into his staff just in case Dorian decided to flip. He forced himself into a relaxed-looking stance, just as Dorian started to turn. 

“What kind of bitter, twisted manchild are you?” hissed the Tevinter. 

Hamish smirked, spreading out his arms in a shrug. “I couldn’t tell you. No one's stuck around long enough to find out.”

The Herald chuckled, lowering his staff. That was when Dorian dropped his own staff, or more – threw it to the ground. Hamish braced himself, keeping his stance as the man took long, meaningful strides towards him. He didn't know whether he was about to be hit or -

Dorian reached him, his arms outstretched. Hamish didn’t have a chance to react, the man moved quicker than he expected. 

That was when he felt the crushing weight of the man grabbing him, kicking his feet out from under him. Hamish sucked in a sharp breath as he felt himself falling. And Maker, did Dorian let him fall. The ground was hard, Hamish even hit his head. He called his mana to his hands instinctively, understanding a beating when it was coming. 

But then that weight was on top of him, hands everywhere. Hamish could hardly keep up from the assault. He felt hot lips against his neck, teeth and tongue and more than he could handle. Yet it wasn't enough. 

When a hand was shoved up his tunic, Hamish let out a shocked breath. Dorian's hand felt like fire against his skin. His nails pressed against his side, and the Herald could feel every frustration in Dorian's hard touches. He could feel his anger and his confusion in every bite, every lick on his neck. He could feel Dorian's mouth moving over his throat. When it got to his jugular, Hamish's body went rigid. The Tevinter noticed, obviously enjoying Hamish's hesitation. 

The young mage let out a surprised yelp as Dorian bit the lump on his throat. It wasn't that hard, but it was a sensitive area. 

That spurred on the younger mage. Hamish wrapped his legs around Dorian's hips, having plenty of practice with turning the state of control. With one quick motion, the Herald pushed himself over and flipping them both. He spread his legs as he straddled the other mage, and Dorian blinked, the haze in his eyes stopping his mind from catching up with the situation. 

Hamish smirked, putting his hands on Dorian's chest. He enjoyed this position. It gave him a sense of control, of dominance. 

Dorian caught up, forcing himself to sit, reaching to grab Hamish and take over for whatever he wanted to do. The Herald clucked his tongue and pushed the man back, letting a small burst of magic follow the gesture. Dorian hit the ground hard, and Hamish chuckled. Served the bastard right. 

“So eager to figure me out...” he said slowly, his hands moving up Dorian's tunic, slowly pulling open the waist buckle. “Here's some advice.”

Hamish leaned down, brushing his nose against Dorian's cheek. 

“Stop trying to understand,” he whispered in the man's ear, following the words with a swift flick of his tongue over the lobe. “Don't expect anything from me, sweetness. You won't get anything, nor will I accept. Sex on the other hand...” Hamish pulled open the folds of Dorian's robes, sighing happily when he felt warm skin. “Now there's a different story.”

Dorian was watching him with a strange expression. Hamish could see that his anger had dissipated slightly and Hamish didn’t like the look Dorian was giving him. 

It was a look that he had seen before. A look that haunted his dreams – when he did find sleep, at least. It was a look that terrified him more than he could say. Hamish felt his expression drop and he got right to his feet. 

Without a word, he picked up his staff and turned on his heel. 

“What – what?” spluttered Dorian, getting to his feet. Hamish could hear the man scrambling to catch up to him, but he was intent on getting away. Away from that look. 

That look... the look of someone liking him. Not fancying him, not lusting after him, not pissed off. Of actually starting to _like_ him. No one liked Hamish. That was the conclusion he'd learned a long time ago. It helped him understand people, it helped him cope. Having someone turn that look on him was something he'd avoided. He'd turned on them, changed their opinion of him. If Dorian was starting to like him, then that was that. No more. 

“You call me a coward and then leave me in the snow,” said Dorian, miffed as he ran to catch up with him. Hamish looked dead ahead, finding that he was walking back towards Haven. 

“I changed my mind,” he snapped, hooking the staff in the holder that he'd sewn into the back of his jacket. 

“Just like that?” 

“Just like that.”

Dorian stood still but Hamish didn’t turn. No. No more. He kept going until he walked right up to Haven's gates. The soldiers were being assembled in outer yard, some of them watching him as he passed. 

He walked through the gates to see Cassandra shouting at the dwarf. 

“... know where he's gone!”

“I told you, I have no idea!”

“Don't _lie_ to me dwarf!”

“I'm not lying!” shouted the frustrated dwarf, his cheeks getting brighter with each word. Hamish walked right up to them. Cassandra looked like she was about to punch Varric in the jaw just before she noticed him, and her expression turned even more sour when she did. 

“Where have you been?” she snapped, ignoring the flustered dwarf. Hamish was surprised to see a glare from the little man before he stomped off. 

Hamish cocked an eyebrow. “For a walk.”

Cassandra couldn’t quite swallow his words, coughing out some kind of noise. 

“For a walk!” she managed at last, throwing her hands up in the air. “We march to close the Breach in fifteen minutes and you went for a walk!”

Hamish sighed heavily. 

“Yes, it's this thing you do by moving one leg in front of the other. Try it sometime.”

Hamish didn’t think he'd ever seen someone's face go so many different shades of purple. She opened her mouth, no doubt to scream, just as a figure materialised from the shadows of the tavern. 

“Enough, Cassandra.”

Hamish gave the Sister a quick look over. He didn't know much of her, he'd only spoken to her a few times. She always put him on edge. Her bright eyes knew more than he cared to be known, and she always smiled as if she knew a secret that could topple cities. He didn’t doubt it. 

“Herald, we think it best that you head our forces. Cullen is waiting for you outside.”

The Herald took his chance to move away from the Seeker, giving Leliana a small nod before turning and walking back the way he'd come. When he looked around, he could see Cullen standing at the front, talking to a few official looking people. Leliana had somehow gotten there first, and everyone seemed to watch him as he walked past, stopping just in front of Cullen. 

“Herald. We're ready to march.”

Hamish just nodded and started forward, glancing up at the hole in the sky. Maybe this would be his last day. The Herald glanced down at his gloved hand. 

Fuck it all.


	5. Burning Green

The walk was slow.

Hamish moved at the pace he was told, maybe even slower. The faster he walked, the closer he got, and the more his hand throbbed.

Its was as if the unfamiliar magic that had fused to his soul knew his intentions, like his mark understood what he was going to do. Maybe it did. How the fuck would he know?

Despite moving slowly, they were marching through the crumbling walkways before Hamish could slip away. At one point he'd noticed Dorian walking towards the back alongside that Qunari brute and the little annoying elf girl. Everyone had come to watch the show, then.

Hamish walked into the clearing, now free of corpses unlike the first time. The floor was scorched from the impact of the explosion, and red lyrium was still scattered around. Hamish avoided the stuff, it made his skin prickle.

He walked over to the point where the first rift had touched the ground, kneeling to run his hand over the dirt. There were only flashes of his distorted memories, and in all honesty, he didn't really want to remember.

With a heavy heart, Hamish turned his head skywards and felt his whole body slump. The hole stared down at him, gaping in the sky and shaking the entire frame of the Veil. It was so thin here. Hamish could practically feel the demons pushing against the curtain, begging for access. When he glanced around again, the mages had surrounded the small battlefield, and he could see on their faces that they could feel the demons too. As soon as he opened the rift again, they'd be assaulted on every side.

Hamish turned his head as he heard someone approaching him, and for once he was surprised that it wasn't Dorian. No, he'd noticed the Tevinter somewhere at the back, standing with the mages.

"Herald," said Cullen, his voice grim. "Solas said the Veil was thin. We've prepared as best we can for the onslaught."

Hamish swallowed thickly but kept his face straight, nodding.

Cullen bowed his head. "On your signal, Herald."

Hamish slowly got to his feet, just as Cullen turned to address the small amount of men they had. The mages hung at the back, on the ruined walkway, out of the line of fire.

"The demons are going to be the first to break through! Men, protect the mages. All their concentration will be on the Herald! Protect the Herald as much as you can, his focus is the Breach!"

Hamish scoffed at Cullen's words. Protect the Herald. Fucking joke.

He put his staff under his arm before pulling off his left glove. Hamish stuffed it into his pocket, keeping his hand down so no one could see the mark. He supposed it didn't matter, they wouldn't give a damn if he couldn't close this Breech.

What was he doing here? Why was he doing this? To save people who'd been so quick to condemn him? For the greater good? Or because he'd be met with a hundred swords if he tried to run?

Probably the latter.

Hamish heaved another great sigh, looking down at his hand. He wished he had had a chance to have a good stiff drink before... this.

Oh well. The time for regrets was over. Hamish glanced back up at the sky, the hole just looming there, waiting to consume him. Hamish turned his head as he held his left hand up to the sky. The mark came to life, fizzing and popping as he felt the sewn up rift he'd closed before. It was tugging at him, trying to make the connection.

Hamish glanced back. All eyes were on him. He caught himself looking up at Dorian briefly. Did he seem angry? Did Hamish really care?

The Herald hardened his expression before holding his hand up higher, focusing on his throbbing mark. As slow as he could, Hamish opened his palm and let the magic reach out.

As soon as the magics met, white hot pain shot down his arm. Hamish gasped, forcing himself not to break the connection. He ground his teeth so hard it made his temples throb.

The stream of green magic was so strong that it illuminated the desolate plain around them. Hamish could feel the magic slowly carving itself into his skin, ripping open his flesh. Hamish gripped his staff in his right hand, holding it until his knuckles were turning white.

The pain was shaking him to his very core, but he held strong, pulling back on the magic. It was like holding a piece of burning thread, tugging at it until the seams came undone. He pulled back, feeling the rift starting to loosen. It was the biggest rift he'd encountered, and he could just make out the shimmering tear reaching up and into the sky.

Hamish let out a cry from the back of his throat as he ripped his arm down. There was a rush of noise, a mixture of tearing skies and demons cries, just as the rift finally opened and the portal to the Fade followed.

Hamish lost his feet from the momentum of his pull, falling down onto one knee. He cradled his arm in his hand, feeling the burn of the magic still pumping through his veins. From the brief glance, he could see the mark had now spread onto his forearm, a good half way down.

He didn't have a chance to study it. The men were letting out shouts of warning, just as a gut wrenching shriek filled the ruined temple.

He could see chaos in the corner of his eyes, and somehow Hamish managed to pull himself up. The pain still lingered, and he knew it would for some time. Especially as he was now supposed to close the whole damn thing. Again.

Hamish jumped back as something came hurtling towards him. The Herald turned to the side, swinging his staff before firing a bolt of lightning right back at the Ice Wraith. It hit the flying bastard right in the chest, sending it spiraling into an old wall.

It didn't take him more than a few seconds to realise he wouldn't have a chance to celebrate. All hell was breaking loose. 

Demons were pouring so quickly from the Breach that they blurred together in a mess of howling evil. Hamish could see the men jumping into action, fighting against horrors they could only imagine. The mages were joining in too, some with more vigour than he'd thought capable. He could understand, in some sense. 

Being a magic born condemned them all to a life of constant vigilance, of being tempted and berated in every single dream. He couldn’t blame them for wanting some payback. 

That was probably the only connection he had to his fellow mages. 

He hadn't chosen to go to Redcliff because he had some deep desire to help the straggling mages and their damned freedom. Hamish had been comfortable in the tower. He never wanted to be part of this war. 

When it boiled down to it though, Hamish would die before he helped the Templars. Also, he'd already been in Redcliff when he'd got news that Fiona was there. It was easier to just go to her rather than attempt to help the Templars. 

The Templars could suck a Wraith's dick, in his opinion. 

“Herald!”

Hamish turned on his heel, towards the voice that called him, when he nearly got a smack from a towering rage demon. The heat coming from the monster was enough to make his eyes water, and Hamish swung his staff blindly in a bid to back away from it. 

His staff didn’t connect with anything. Instead he felt the force of something burning hot collide with his face, sending him sprawling onto the ground. Hamish cried out as he felt the heat on his face, melting into his skin. He called ice to his palm, scrambling to wipe the heat away. The burn had caught him right up the left side of his face, from his chin up to his forehead, leaving a blistering trail in it's wake. 

Hamish tried to push himself away from the rage demon, dragging himself along the ground. But a roar that vibrated through his chest told him it was futile. He felt another burning scratch swipe across the back of his legs and he cried out again, this time the sound turning into a curse. 

“Fuck you!” he yelled, rolling onto his back. He held out both of his hands, sending the ice outwards in a heavy stream, starting in the monster's face and getting stronger as it turned the fucker into an ice statue. 

He hissed and fell back, putting a handful of ice to his face. He could still see out of his left eye, which was a bonus he supposed – even if it was blurry. 

The chaos of the battle was still roaring around him, deafening. Hamish couldn’t stand it. There was nothing worse than hearing the cries of the dying, or the victorious shouts of the idiotic. 

“Herald! The Breach!”

Hamish turned to the voice. The woman who had screamed at him... her voice had held so much anguish that he forced himself to move. He glanced around the carnage to see Leliana wielding two daggers like she was possessed. Her hood was down, her red hair flecked with black muck. She was fighting off a shade, but kept turning to him. 

When she saw he was finally looking, Leliana held out her arm in the direction of the rift he'd opened. 

That was when a sound made the ground shake. It was the demented roar of a creature much bigger than any of them. Hamish swallowed thickly as he saw the creature step from the rift. The demons around it sank back, giving it way, and the creature roared again. The sound went right through him, and Hamish took a deep breath. 

He recognised it. 

“Oh for fuck's sake,” he grumbled, walking past the frozen rage demon and picking up his staff. The fighting around them had dimmed slightly, the demons that had come first slinking back to make room for the bigger baddie that had just waddled through. The men had stopped as well, just staring at the monster as if their worst nightmares had come to life right in front of them. Well, it pretty much had. 

Hamish turned his head when he saw someone move next to him. His eyes went up and up until he was looking into the smirking face of the Qunari brute. What was his name again? Something ridiculous, if he remembered right. 

“Ready, boss?”

Hamish scoffed, wiping his eye where it had watered. The pain in his face was nothing compared to what was to come when he got close enough to close that fucking hole. The Qunari made a sound that could have been a laugh or a grunt before raising his greatsword and letting out a thundering warcry. 

Hamish clucked his tongue, because the idiotic brute had just drawn attention to the two of them. The pride demon turned and let out a scream that made Hamish wince, before bending it's body and charging towards them. 

The Herald span his staff and jumped towards the side, letting off a fireball as it charged past. The Qunari laughed and rounded up their troops. The demon was flanked by an arm full of screaming soldiers, attacking it from every angle. Hamish raised his hands, his mana pooling in his hands. Words streamed from his tongue, muttered under his breath as he recited the ancient runic words that created the ward. 

Just as he had finished and the runic symbols started to blaze under the demon, freezing it in place for a few moments, something grabbed his shoulder and yanked him around. He sucked in a sharp breath as he saw Cassandra standing in front of him, her face a mix of blood and anger. 

“What are you doing?” she all but screamed. “Close the Breach!”

Hamish didn’t have a chance to reply, Cassandra near enough throwing him towards the rift floating in the sky, connecting to the hole to the mortal world. Hamish huffed and jogged towards it, smacking a few demons with his staff as he went. 

There was a bloodied scream from somewhere behind him, but he didn’t have a chance to look. More demons were coming out, surrounding the rift. 

It would take hell of a lot of mana to fight through the mess. But he supposed he didn’t have much choice. 

Hamish held his staff with both hands, swinging it an arc before putting it in front of him. 

That was when the ground beneath him started to shake. Hamish could feel the magic under his feet, it tingled his toes. It was reaching up to him, feeling him, and then it moved on.

The glyph that started to form was surrounding the whole battlefield, lighting it up in an eerie purple glow. Hamish sucked in a shocked breath, because the force of this magic was unlike anything he'd ever seen. Making a glyph was hard enough – making a glyph this big? That was suicide.

Hamish turned his head, looking around until he saw who was making the glyph. That's when he saw him. Towards the back. He stood tall with his hands in the air. His eyes were closed, his palms glowing with the same purple mana that lit up the entire space. Mages stood next and around him, but they weren't touching him. No, he was doing this by himself.

"Fucking idiot," muttered Hamish, even as he felt a small flutter in his gut. The Tevinter was going to kill himself.

"Hamish! Now!"

Hamish didn't know who was shouting at him, but the Herald understood what was happening. The Pride demon was being drawn away from the rift and the glyph was freezing the other demons in place.

He darted forward, pulling his staff close. He was going to hit a few demons on his way, but then thought against it. He didn't know how long Dorian could hold this paralysis glyph and he was fucking done with demons.

Hamish threw out his hand, letting the connection from mark to rift through straight away. The force of it caused him to cry out, but he managed to bite down on his tongue.

The rift pulled at his mark, ripping at it. That burning sensation started again as the magic started to eat away at his skin. Hamish let out a frustrated cry, forcing his mana into his mark. It sparked brighter, the foreign magic sucking up at his magical core.

Hamish could feel the rift through the magic. He could feel the sutures from the first time he closed it, moving up. It would be easy to sew it together again, closing the rift and stopping the demons from pouring through. But that would just close the rift, it wouldn’t touch the actual Breach. He felt his body starting to tremble as the magic started to drink at his magical core. If he pushed more, it would drain him completely of mana and leave him a husk. 

He didn’t even know if he would survive being drained like this. He'd used his mana before, recklessly, until he was so exhausted that he would sleep. But he'd never had it sucked from him. It felt like a monster was opening up his chest and drinking the lifeblood that coursed through his veins. 

Not pleasant. 

Hamish reached up with his right hand, dropping his staff as he held his forearm, squeezing to try and give his mind another focus point from the pain. It didn’t work, and the more he held the connection, the further he felt the mark travelling up the rift. 

It was reaching for the Breach, and when his magic combined with the mark got there... he didn’t know if he had the strength to close that hole. 

The mark was forcing him to his knees, the pressure pulsing down his arm. The biting pain only got sharper the further up his magic travelled. Hamish could feel his body trying to shut off the connection. It was his instinct to run from death, and this was killing him. 

“Mages! The Herald!”

Hamish heard the command but he didn’t react, instead trying to keep his focus on the rift. 

That was when he felt something trickling into his skin. It came tentatively, at first, like the brush of a butterfly wing on his skin. Foreign magic, someone touching his skin with their mana. It pushed through his body and reached into his core, mingling with his own depleted mana. Hamish accepted it just as another tendril snaked up his arms. He sucked in a sharp breath, because more and more was coming. 

He body was being invaded by more and more magic. Some were soft, almost waiting for acceptance. Some was slamming into him, pushing into his core. He could feel each connection individually, could sense the personality behind each strand. Hamish let out another cry, overwhelmed. The force of the Breach lessened slightly, like it was confused with all the new magic being pumped through Hamish's mark. 

Letting them into the most sacred part of his body, the most intimate, was something he never thought he would have to experience. It was vulnerability at it's most potent. Hamish ground his teeth and kept letting the magic inside him, even though each new strand was worse than the last. 

Opening a connection like this to another mage was like opening up the soul, and so many were touching him, knowing him in a way that Hamish never wanted to be known. But that connection worked both ways, and even as he sent every new piece of mana up into the Breach, he still got glimpses of memories that weren’t his own. 

It was if he were flipping the pages of a story he hadn't wanted to read. Lovers and mothers, families, nightmares... they assaulted his mind. He felt a sliver of fear run through him at the thought that these strangers were seeing into his mind as well. The only difference was that whereas he was experiencing hundreds at once, they would only have his. They weren’t a conduit like Hamish. 

Another strand of magic touched him just then. Hamish had turned his focus to the Breach before he felt that magic. 

He knew it. The signature had touched him before, and it seemed to burn brighter than the others. Just as one of Hamish's worst memories was brought to the front of his mind and he knew that the mages were seeing it too, that bright strand of mana touched his core. It ignited him from the inside out, pushing him, forcing him to continue. 

The Herald looked up at the sky. Every shade of colour, of magic, was winding up into the sky weaving through the eerie green of the mark. 

Hamish narrowed his eyes, forcing his hand up higher and sending every piece of magic inside his chest up into the sky. 

The Breach trembled from the force of it all. Hamish could feel the gaping hole, the demons that were circling just behind the Veil. With a mental 'Fuck You', Hamish grabbed the edge of the hole. The mark was winding through it, the evil it represented shaking from the force. 

Each strand of mana wound through the hole, in and out, stitching. Hamish felt his own mana glowing ever so gently, threatening to fizzle out. Bracing both legs, Hamish raised his other hand, grasping at invisible strings. 

He started to pull, to yank those fucking strings together and close this tear once and for all. 

As soon as he started to pull, the Breach started to resist. A flash of green light travelled down the rift and right into his arm. That was when he did scream. He could hear it resounding through the battlefield, but he couldn't feel it through the force of magic running through every single vein. 

The magic from the mages trembled, the owners shocked by his reaction. Hamish could feel something streaming down his cheeks. He didn’t know if it was blood, magic, sweat or tears, but he couldn’t dwell on it. The assault had left him blind, with nothing but the connection in front of his eyes. Everything just burned green, his chest filled with helplessness. 

That familiar magic, burning that familiar purple, it seemed to cut through the darkness. It wound around his neck, his face. It lit up the green until everything was ablaze in violet. Hamish sucked in heavy breaths, forcing his hand back up to the connection that was killing him. 

Through the pain, Hamish grabbed the strands of magic again. This time, he pulled back with everything he had. He pulled with all his anger, his frustration, his grief. He pushed the pain out, using that as another rush of strength. Magic roared in his ears, the sky was cracking, threatening to shatter. 

Hamish could hear himself roaring back just as loud, pulling back with every ounce of magic he had. The Breach rumbled, the sky darkened. 

With one last desperate, broken cry, Hamish pulled again. 

The Veil came together with a thundering blast. Magic exploded from the sky, knocking everyone and everything down in one last attempt to hurt them. 

Hamish felt the connection break mere moments before his body hit the floor. The foreign mana was ripped from his chest, leaving him feeling empty and his soul bruised. 

The first thing he heard was... nothing. 

Deathly silence. 

Hamish was floating in that in-between, the moment between awake and asleep. The pain in his arm was dimmer now, but it still burned. It ached and stung and made him curl up into a ball. 

The exhaustion tugging at every limb was unlike anything he'd felt before. 

He could just make out the cheers of those around him, but it was like he was listening from underwater. Everything was fuzzy. He was on the brink of collapse, just as he heard a few different shouts.

Was that his name?

“Hamish!”

“The Herald!”

“Oh dear Maker, don't let him be dead.”

Hamish let out a shuddering breath as his vision blurred and came into focus. Everything was dark, mostly because his head was buried in his body, half on the ground and half on his coat.  
Something touched him, shoving his battered body onto his back. He groaned and tried to swipe out. He could fucking sleep here if he wanted, damn it. From the cheers he could tell he must have done something good, so didn’t he deserve some peace?

“Oh thank the Maker, he's alive.”

Hamish opened his eyes, because the words, the tone – it didn’t fit the voice it came from. He could just make out Cassandra, kneeling next to him. Her face was blooming in a fresh bruise and she looked like she'd aged ten years. 

“He's alive?”

Cassandra's face was soon accompanied by another. That little dwarf woman, what was her name? 

“Herald!”

“Get him up!”

“Herald you closed the Breach!”

Hamish frowned and groaned, moving his arms to cover his face. He felt arms reaching out to grab him and he realised that he wasn't going to be able to sleep yet. 

“Come on boss, on your feet!”

Hamish sucked in a surprised breath as his body was lifted from the ground and he was promptly placed on his feet. His legs buckled but he managed to grab the Qunari before he fell. 

As soon as he got to his feet, the cries and shouts and applause of the blissfully ignorant rammed into his ear drums. The mages, the soldiers, all those alive were calling his name. They pointed up, they laughed. Some hugged, some went right to help the wounded. Hamish glanced around to see his group of stragglers forming. 

The elf girl was making some vulgar thrusts with her hips, the bold elf was leaning against his staff. Leliana was already rounding up the troops. 

Hamish couldn’t focus on all of it. But he realised the Qunari was backing away, letting him go. A moment of panic ran through him. His body shuddered as he lost his support. He felt himself starting to fall when someone smoothly scooped him up, one arm around his waist and the other wrapping Hamish's arm over his shoulders. 

“Well done, Herald.”

Hamish frowned at Cullen's happy smile, relief evident on the man's face. He couldn’t find it in him to reply, so instead he let Cullen half carry him as they started to move back towards the exit.

“We have time to celebrate later! See to the wounded!” barked the commander in his ear, making Hamish wince. The men were quick to follow orders, and the battlefield came alive again, but this time with laughter and tears. 

It only took a few more steps for Hamish to realise how ridiculous he must have looked, being half carried by the commander. He had more strength in his legs now, and he quickly drew himself away from the commander.

His body wobbled a little as he got his balance, but he shook it off and took a few steps on his own. 

The commander said something and dashed off, running to help with whatever. Hamish didn’t have any more fucks left to give. 

He knew there were a few following him, but he tried to get ahead. No more Breach meant no more demons, and he was sure the others would catch up eventually. 

Hamish forced himself into the crumbling walkway, around the corner. As soon as he was out of sight, he leant his battered body against a wall. With a wince, Hamish brought his arm back up into the light. The mark was throbbing like a dull knife wound. It felt hot, and a quick glance told him it had reached his elbow. He brought his arm to his chest and cuddled it, almost begging the pain to go away. It was like he was being punished for saving the world. 

“You look like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards.”

Hamish sighed, letting his eyes flutter closed before turning his head. He pulled his coat down to cover his arm before facing the man. 

Dorian was stood a few paces away from the wall, his hair irritatingly perfect. But Hamish could see the strain on the man's features, the exhaustion was clear in his eyes. 

“You look old,” replied the Herald, with a lot less venom than he intended. Dorian's eyes flashed and he smirked. 

The man stepped forward and reached his hand up, like he was going to touch Hamish's face. The Herald only got a small glimpse of mana before he jumped away, reaching to grab the wall and stop himself from falling.

“The fuck are you doing?” Ouch. That hurt his voice. He must have really screamed.

Dorian sighed and held up his hand, his palm twinkling a pale purple.

“Your face is mangled. Stop being so childish.”

Hamish sent the man a glare but it didn’t stop him from reaching out again. When the mana touched his skin, the Herald's heart jumped as he felt that familiar signature. He kept his eyes cast down as the magic tugged and repaired his face. He didn’t miss the little movement of Dorian's finger, swiping over his cheek ever so slightly. 

“There. All better.”

Hamish scoffed and pushed himself from the wall. That was when a wave of dizziness swept through him and he swayed dangerously. Dorian grabbed him without hesitation, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

It only took a moment for it to pass, and Hamish was soon trying feebly to break out of the man's grasp. 

“Go away. I don’t want your help.”

Dorian clucked his tongue like a mother hen, pulling him up so that Hamish could get his balance. 

“You've exhausted your mana to the point where you can't even walk. Let's pretend for a few moments that you're not a stubborn little brat and accept my help, hm?”

Hamish's face was so close to Dorian's and he pulled his head back slightly. He glared openly, but he couldn’t make out like he wasn't completely spent. He wouldn't be able to walk much further on his own. He'd end up in a heap for the entire Inquisition to see. Finally he let out a heavy sigh, reaching his hand up to hold Dorian's shoulder. 

“Fine. But touch my arse, darling, and I'll break your fingers.”

Dorian let out a surprised chuckle, pulling Hamish up again until they could both walk balanced. 

“You're very dramatic, you know that?”

Hamish tried to keep his pout but he couldn’t stop a small smile. He lowered his head so that Dorian couldn’t see, but he knew the Tevinter had seen it. 

“Just don't talk to me,” said Hamish as harshly as he could, trying his hardest not to let his exhaustion get the better of him. 

“Don't worry. I would hate to ruin your reputation. I'll drop you as soon as we get into sight of another person.”

Hamish nudged Dorian's shoulder, making the man chuckle again. He shook his head as they started to move forward together. Not before he caught a glimpse of that Tevinter's smile. Hamish would never admit it – the thought barely crossed his mind for over a second – but he thought, just a little, he liked that smile.


	6. Blowing Smoke

True to his word, Dorian dropped him as soon as someone caught up to them. They weren’t exactly moving quickly, and those not carrying the dead or wounded were marching forward, desperate to get back to Haven and celebrate the success as if they had been the ones to have their skin ripped to shreds.

He felt the mage let go of him just a moment before he stumbled. Luckily they were by a rock and he had a chance to grab it before he ended up in the snow.

Hamish sent Dorian an icy glare, but the man just raised an eyebrow, as if saying ‘Well, didn’t you ask me to?’

Thankfully, Haven was in the distance by that point. From somewhere, Hamish dug down and found a few ounces of energy, hauling himself to his feet and walking with as much grace as he could muster. Which wasn’t much, he realised.

The Inquisition was coming in force, and he managed to mingle in. Dorian disappeared somewhere in the mass, but Hamish was too overwhelmed by the people. They were all trying to speak to him, congratulate him. He wasn’t even listening to most of it, but he did notice that all the mages were avoiding him. His heart threatened to jump into his throat and suffocate him. He was one step away from pinning the first one close enough and demanding what they saw.

Instead he carried on moving, being swept forward by the crowd until he was walking through the gates. The celebrations were already in full swing, music strumming from somewhere in the distance.

The people welcomed him like a royal, cheering and touching and pulling and pissing him off more than he could say.

He kept his head down, moving forward until he slipped out of the masses. He moved back towards his little cabin and sighed at the silence. Well, as silent as a hundred plus people celebrating could be. Hamish slowly sank onto the bed, wondering if he could slip under the covers and no one would notice his absence.

He sucked in a sharp breath as his mark sparked, spitefully reminding him that he was in fucking pain.

Hamish sighed wearily and leaned forward onto his knees. His pack was still on his back and he managed to shrug it off, fumbling around until he found a little phial burning blue. Watered down lyrium.

His hands were shaking as he turned it over, a sense of panic and excitement washing over him.

_“What are you doing?” she snaps._

_She shakes him as he lies on the floor, smirking to himself as the empty phial rolls from his fingers._

_“Enjoying life,” he responds sleepily._

_“By killing yourself?” Her eyes burn a nasty violet, and he could tell right then that he was going to get his arse handed to him. But those eyes change, and her demeanour crumbles until those eyes so recently filled with fury flood with tears._

_“You’re killing yourself, Hammy,” she whispers, sitting next to him. She picks up the empty phial and launches it at the wall, shattering it._

_“You’re not supposed to be this weak!” she shouts, slapping him hard on the shoulder. He lifts up his head and frowns. Everything is hazy, her body outlined in a tinge of blue. He’s had too much, and he only realises as the first tear falls._

_“Dan-”_

_She raises her hand, getting to her feet with a flourish of skirts._

_“Do what you want, Hamish,” she says, her voice hard enough to pierce his heart. “I won’t watch you die. You want to kill yourself? You do it alone.”_

Hamish glanced up as the memory passed through his mind. He could still see her walking out of the door, hear her soft sobs as the door slammed closed.

He glanced back down at the little blue phial before slowly putting it back into his bag. He wasn’t that exhausted. Not really.

That was what he kept repeating to himself as he grabbed his little brown box and got to his feet. The Herald wondered slowly over to the little cabinet by the wall. He’d gotten random gifts here and there for simply being, or as tokens from the nobles that Josephine was convincing to support the Inquisition.

Hamish reached for the biggest, oldest looking bottle and wrapped it securely in the crook of his arm. He walked from his cabin and somehow managed to haul himself up the side of it, finally settling down on the roof. From here he could see the festivities and hear the joy, but he didn’t have to be part of it.

Using his teeth, Hamish pulled the cork from the… brandy? Huh. Never been much of a brandy drinker, he thought, but took a swig anyway.

He spluttered as the bitter brew touched the cut on his lip that Dorian had so kindly put there. He scoffed and took another large gulp, this time revelling in the burn that travelled down his throat. It was a nice focus point from his arm, and he shifted himself, crossing his legs and getting comfortable where he sat.

He put the drink down and opened his little brown box. He had none of those delicious leaves left, but he made due with the tobacco. He rolled himself a thin smoke, using a little flame on his finger to light it. Hamish inhaled deep, sighing out the smoke before grabbing the bottle and taking another long drag.

This was what he enjoyed. A smoke, a drink, and being alone.

The night was darker now the Breach didn’t loom above them. There was no more green tint to the sky, the threat all but gone.

Hamish’s eyes were directed to the main campfire, where Bull was roaring about something to a few swooning servant women. He chuckled to himself and raised his bottle, even though no one would see. Then he realised how pathetic he was being, and he ended the salute by tipping the bottle up against his lips.

Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to be… like that. With people.

It could be done, obviously. He had the skills to be polite. He knew what to say. But why should he? Every time he’d tried to be nice to people, they thought he was being sarcastic. He’d settled so nicely into the role of bastard that no one could see beyond that.

Hamish scoffed at himself, shrugging off that thought. What did it matter? He was how he was. No point in changing himself now.

As he drank steadily, made a couple more smokes, he felt his body getting lighter, his head fuzzier. But that was a good kind of fuzzy. He was familiar with this fuzz. The Herald let himself fall back, lying on the uncomfortable roof as he looked up into the sky. He brought his smoke to his lips again, inhaling deeply, blowing his smoke up into the sky. A sky he had fixed, he added mentally.

“You know, every time I see you, you’re on your back.”

Hamish smirked to himself, continuing to glance at the sky as he smoked casually. Why had he expected him to come? He’d thought it in the back of his mind, briefly, but he wasn’t surprised when someone leaned over him.

“Isn’t that how you like me?” he replied teasingly, just as Dorian settled down next to him. Hamish turned his head, holding up the bottle before he noticed the tumbler in the man’s hand already. The Herald chuckled and pulled the bottle back to himself and turned back to the sky.

“You know, I’m going to start thinking you’re infatuated with me soon.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow and scoffed into his drink.

“You looked lonely, what can I say? And Cassandra is looking for you. I don’t know why, but they seem to think I have a beacon on you.”

Hamish smirked and sat up, pulling from his drink again.

“You just wanted an excuse to see me,” said the young mage cockily, swigging from his drink again and sighing as he felt the alcohol settling into his limbs.

Dorian let out a wounded scoff, putting his hand to his chest dramatically like he was grievously wounded.

“Ah, there’s no denying it, then. What wouldn’t attract me to a young, able-bodied man like yourself?”

Hamish could tell Dorian was trying to be nice, and in his exhaustion, Hamish didn’t quite mind that. He still knew what the Tevinter was here for, though.

“Don’t be so polite. You’ve had a few drinks and you’re looking for a quick fuck. Don’t worry, you don’t have to sugar coat it. It’s understandable – I am pretty irresistible.”

“And not too modest, I see.”

Hamish smirked at the slight change in Dorian’s tone. He probably should have told Dorian to leave as soon as he appeared. It would be easy. The man had been hanging around since their little tryst in the Hinterlands. It was fun, no doubt about that. Something he would repeat, of course. But if the man was looking for more, he’d be sorely mistaken.

A silence fell over them as they drank their drinks, watching the festivities. Hamish didn’t want to speak, because speaking meant he would have to put the man down, and Hamish was far from subtle in that sense. Then Dorian started to say something that turned the brandy in Hamish’ throat to ash.

“At the Breach, when you were sealing it, I saw-“

“No.” Hamish’s word came out like a knife. It shocked Dorian into silence, and Hamish turned to him with sharp eyes.

“I don’t care what you saw. What you saw was none of your business. No one had a right to be in my head, so anything you saw I suggest you forget. Immediately.”

How had they gone from a little flirting to Hamish’s words coming out like ice? Well, simple. He didn’t want to fucking know.

“I only wished-“

“I don’t care. Listen, Dorian. In the forest, that was fun. I like fun. Fun is easy and uncomplicated and enjoyable. But let’s get one thing straight, okay? You are not my friend. You are not anything but a man who got me off. That’s all it’ll be. So stop… trying to get to know me. Stop being nice. Want to fuck? Brilliant, I’m game. Want to talk? I suggest talking to the dwarf.”

Hamish grabbed his bottle and got to his feet, moving to the crate he’d climbed up.

“None of this affects me, Herald. Just so you know.”

Hamish stopped with one foot on the crate, turning his head slightly to see Dorian looking out over Haven. Everything about him screamed relaxed, and that bugged the Herald more than he could understand.

“Your words, meant to hurt I suppose? It’s rather pathetic that a child such as you could think that would work. It only adds to your immaturity.”

Hamish ground his teeth but managed to gather his anger and twist it into a smirk, letting out a bitter chuckle.

“Perhaps,” he said slowly, moving his other leg to jump off the roof. On the ground, he moved around his cabin so that he knew Dorian could see him. “But at least I have one thing, and that’s my youth. I still have time to mature. You, my darling…” Hamish looked the man up and down deliberately. He insults were pathetic and yes, immature, but he could at least try to land a blow while he was relatively sober. “Well. Not much time left for you, I suppose.”

It was awful. Everything about his insult was terrible, but he was exhausted. Hamish sent the man a sweet smile before shoving the smoke between his teeth. He turned, catching a glimpse of a smile on Dorian's face.

He felt the anger swirling in his chest as he turned his back to the man. He felt his expression drop and he started to stalk away angrily. As he moved, Hamish realised he was still in view of that fucking man, so he forced himself into an easy saunter. The man had stated clearly that he didn't care, which Hamish believed.

Of course he didn’t.

That took a load off Hamish's mind, which he breathed out. No more worrying about someone hanging off his arm.

“Herald! Join us!”

Hamish glanced up, realising he'd just walked into the main celebrations. He looked at the person who'd called him, a young soldier man sat with his friends. They were all giving him drunken smiles, like they owed him their life. If the burning mark down his arm was anything to go by, they did.

He could see his 'companions' further along, but Hamish found himself walking towards the group. Some of them looked flustered he'd noticed them, quickly moving so he could sit. Hamish planted himself down next to the brown haired man that had called to him, giving him one of his best smiles.

“I think I will, if you don’t mind?”

“Uh, no, no not at all Your Worship!”

Hamish chuckled and leaned a little closer. “Call me Hamish, okay?”

He felt that lovely thrill as the man seemed to flush and look a little bedazzled. Hamish raised an eyebrow with a playful smirk, before turning and accepting a bottle that was being offered to him. He gave the young solder another long glance as he bit the cork out of the neck, spitting it in a certain direction and catching a glimpse of that figure where it still sat on the roof.

He couldn't see Dorian's features, but Hamish knew he was being watched. Scooting a little closer to the soldier lad, Hamish raised the bottle slightly in Dorian's direction, his smile twisting into something wicked just as he caught a glimpse of the soldier's breathing catch.

A few murmured words, a few gentle touches, and the soldier was hanging on Hamish's every word. It was entertaining, mind-numbing, and just the distraction he needed.

When he glanced up again, though, Dorian was gone. And Hamish didn't know if he was pleased or disappointed.

~*~

“You're amazing, Herald. Truly.”

Hamish gave the younger lad a tight lipped smile as his hands fumbled with an incredible amount of buckles. The world around them was dimly lit by a flickering candle, and he knew it wasn't one of his proudest moments. Still, the closet was warm and Hamish intended to find multiple ways of getting them both heated.

That was if the kid stopped gushing at him.

Hamish felt fingers rake through his hair, and goose bumps raised all down his spine. Sadly, they weren't the nice kind. He really fucking hated people touching his hair.

The Herald grabbed the kid's hand, and then the other, slamming them both above his head and pinning him there. The soldier let out a moan, his wanton eyes glancing up at Hamish like he was Andraste in the fucking flesh. Hamish sighed and leaned down, deciding to try skin instead.

He let his tongue run over the kid's soft flesh, sighing as the boy finally stopped trying to touch and kiss him. It was better like this, he found.

Hamish started on the buckles again, and just as he reached under the lip of the soldier's trousers to feel warm skin – a voice rang through his moment of piece.

“Hamish!”

The Herald sighed and paused his movements, feeling the soldier's body go rigid underneath him.

“Hamish!” demanded the voice, this time louder. Hamish let out a frustrated growl, pulling away from the soldier and wrenching open the door. He stood in the frame, glaring, hearing the soldier rushing to pull up his trous.

The Herald glared just as the soldier rushed past him, dashing from the room as Dorian's eyes followed the young man leaving.

“What?” snapped Hamish, crossing his arms and leaning against the beams.

Dorian turned back to him, his face set in an unreadable expression. He was surprised to see Dorian looking a little ruffled himself, but he also noticed the man was once again donned head-to-toe in armour.

“You're needed.” Dorian's tone was flat, and he turned to walk out of the cabin without another word. Hamish ground his teeth and grabbed his jacket before stomping out into the snow.

“What the fuck could be so impor-”

Dorian grabbed his shoulder and roughly turned him to the left. Hamish's mouth was open to snap out a response when he saw what was causing such a fuss.

Outside of Haven, as far as he could see, sprawled across the mountains... were people. More specifically – soldiers. And they were heading right for the little village. Hamish felt his shoulders slump.

“Oh."


	7. Chapter 7

As far as he could see - lights. Torches. The distant rhythmic drumming of a hundred feet moving in tandem. For a moment he simply stared, vaguely noticing his breath as it swirled around him. Dorian stood motionless, too. Yet the Tevinter wore a different expression when Hamish turned to him. 

“That’s-”

Hamish’s voice was cut off by the blaring of horns, the ringing of panicked bells. Others had now noticed the small army marching on Haven from the hills, it seemed. Chaos erupted around them as they stood, and Hamish felt stunned still. 

Really? An attack? After he nearly died closing the Breach, after he went through all that pain - not even one night off? Not a rest? 

The Herald found himself grounding his teeth as he looked over the advancing army. They were just specks in the distance, flowing to a military ebb. Sparks of red and yellow could be seen throughout, and Hamish gave it all of half an hour before they descended onto the village. No way could they outrun that army. Haven was pretty fucked. 

“Herald! Dorian!”

Hamish turned his head as Cassandra came jogging over to them, one hand tying up the buckle of her armoured bodice, the other carrying a sword. 

“An army from over the mountains! Templars - red Templars.”

He raised an eyebrow as she stopped before him, finally getting that buckle and catching her breath.

“Cullen is rallying the men, but there’s too many. Our only hope is the trebuchets but only the scouts have reached them. They’re being massacred!”

Feeling a deep throb begin behind his eyes, Hamish knew this was going to be a long night. And from the steady thundering of footsteps - a bloody night. 

“I’ll get my staff.”

Hamish saw Cassandra’s eyes narrow slightly, and the irritated part of him flared up. He gave the Seeker a scowl before moving away, stomping through the scattering people to get to his little cabin. There would be no running from this. 

As he grabbed his pack and checked inside, not for anything particular, he knew there would be no running. Not like he could have done before. No, there had been plenty of directions to run then. But not now. The little lights of the enemy were spread across the mountains. The only way out would be behind Haven - but that was more mountain. 

As he slung the pack over his shoulders, Hamish felt his mark flare up with a fizzle. He hissed through his teeth, pulling off his glove. The Mark was glowing, popping and cracking against his pale skin. It looked horrible. Gashes spread down his forearm, jagged, eating into his flesh. It had calmed down after he closed the Breach, even though the pain was still there. 

Now it had flared up again, popping with excitement. Could the strange magic sense his anxiety? Did it know his fear? 

Because he could feel it, hovering in the back of his mind like a shadow. It sat, heavy at the bottom of his magical core. Disconnected from him, pressing against him for access. He couldn’t let it inside. That would be accepting this Mark. It would be accepting his fate as Herald of Andraste. 

A shudder ran down his spine and Hamish shook it off, grabbing his staff and marching from his cabin. 

Cassandra was watching his every move. Hamish stiffened his posture, but gave her a nod when he reached her. She had sheathed her weapon, and Dorian was nowhere to be seen. Part of him briefly wondered where the mage had gone, and the other part of him scoffed internally. 

He didn’t have time to think on it, because the Seeker had grabbed his arm and was leading him towards the gates of Haven. As they reached them, Hamish turned to ask the Seeker what their best position was when the first boulder hit the outskirts of Haven. The collision sounded around the encampment like thunder, shaking the ground beneath them and scattering the people still safely inside the walls. Some screamed. Some let out hurried shrieks. Hamish ducked as did the Seeker, and that was when their situation dawned on him. Truly dawned on him. 

“Herald! Their aiming for the trebuchets!”

Hamish span on his heel as a soldier ran towards him, the man holding his side and blood smeared against his pale lips. 

That was where he had to be, then. Hamish turned to the Seeker. She was watching him, her eyes still stern. She didn’t believe in him, never had. She’d never liked him, but he saw a begrudging respect after he closed the Breach. Maybe that was enough. 

“Come on,” he said quickly, twisting his staff in his hand. 

“At your side,” replied the Seeker, causing Hamish to quirk a brow before jogging out of the compounds of Haven and into the mess of the snowy mountains. 

Soldiers were gathering as best they could, small groups of them being directed by other soldiers who were on the verge of panic. So many voices were ringing out, calling for loved ones, calling for order. Hamish pushed through until he almost ran smack into the Commander.

“Herald! They’re trying to flank the trebuchets!”

“Yes, I know!” snapped Hamish, letting out a huff and blowing his fringe from his eyes. He didn’t see the Commander’s expression because a rush of soldiers were separating them. Hamish carried on forward, following the screams and the clashing of metal to metal.

The first trebuchet was being held, but the other, just up the hill, was crawling with… red soldiers?

Hamish frowned, stopping and glancing around.

That was his first mistake.

The brunt of the arrow threw him back as it embedded in his left shoulder, accompanied by white hot pain. He could feel the cold of the metal as it spread through his veins. The force had him on one knee, his staff on the ground. He managed only a small yelp as he ground his teeth.

The arrowhead jutted from his coat, the feathered head glittering with blood that had sprayed with the contact.

“Fuckers!”

Hamish gave a grunt as he raised one trembling hand, touching the head and poking it. Rivets of pain flashed down his arm, all the way to his fingertips. He winced and decided to leave it where it was. The head was buried deep, all the way in. Part of him would have thought that image funny if it didn’t feel like his shoulder was being cracked open by a jagged rock.

“Hamish!”

Someone fell in front of him and he just about recognised the little elf girl through the blood on her face.

“This isn’t your fucking arrow, is it?” he yelled, nodding to the bow in her hand. She scoffed and hooked an arm under his, pulling him to his feet.

“I ain’t that bad a shot, what’dya take me for? There’s red stone baddies happy slashing our friends up there, best kick ‘em in the head, innit?”

Hamish frowned and shook his head, pushing her away and grabbed his staff from the ground. He let his mana seep into the wood, giving it a shimmering white glow.

Sera made some kind of curse-comment before dodging back, running to a small mound for some higher ground. Hamish tried to rolled his shoulder and felt the metal grind against his bone, making him both hurt and feel sick at the sensation. Instead he took the staff in both hands and slammed the butt of it into the ground.

Lightning flashed by his feet before rushing over the snow, throwing it into the air like dust. The spell hit the first red ‘baddie’ right in the chest, launching it backwards and into another one, spreading the lightning.

Hamish let out a laugh before calling up more spells.

They were weak – more to stun. He’d noticed that Qunari brute run past him at one point, shouting some kind of battlecry, so Hamish had aimed for the ones who would attack him from behind.

A fireball flew from his staff, exploding on impact and spraying everyone in proximity. He held back a laugh as Cassandra screamed, before she realised that the fire wouldn’t actually hurt her.

He smirked as she threw him a glare.

By the time the last red soldier fell, Hamish’s shoulder was well and truly fucking aching. He lowered his staff and put a hand to his shoulder, pulling his fingers away wet and red.

“I don’t know when the next wave will – shit!”

Cassandra lunged forward, her shield aimed right for his face. He didn’t even have time to react, jolting from the shock and waiting for the impact. He closed his eyes as he heard three metallic thuds right after the other.

Peeling his eyes open, he saw Cassandra’s shield covering his head from the right, three arrows embedded in the metal. She was stood close to him, hidden behind her shield too and gave him a smug smirk. Hamish pursed his lips.

“Got ‘em!”

Sera ran passed them and fell to one knee, bow raised with three arrows knocked at the same time. The crazy elf let them all fly, before jumping up and down when she obviously got her target.

Hamish watched her with confusion before another bolt of pain ran down his arm.

“The fuck!” he yelled, yanking his arm away from Cassandra’s prodding finger.

“You need to pull that out.”

“You need to stop poking it,” he growled back, turning from her and cradling his shoulder. He tugged gently at the shaft and hissed. Fuck pulling that bastard out. It could damn well stay where it was.

“Cassandra! They’re aiming-“

The Commander never got to finish his sentence. Hamish heard the whoosh before Haven was hit. The force shook the ground so hard that Hamish was knocked right off his feet. He hit the floor with a grunt, the breath blown from his lungs.

All he could hear were screams, from everywhere. The force had jolted his shoulder, and now it hurt from inside. He had no doubt the head had caused some damage in there, but when he opened his eyes everything was blurry. He turned to his left but he could already see the world spinning.

He put on hand over his eyes just as he felt something grab the front of his jacket. Mana pooled in his palms out of instinct, but whatever grabbed him didn’t immediately stick something in his gut so he supposed that was a good sign.

Suddenly his world shifted and he was being hauled to his feet. His legs couldn’t keep up and they folded underneath him.

“Stop being so dramatic and stand,” demanded a voice in his ear. Hamish frowned and glanced up, feeling his face twist into a scowl at the person holding him up.

“Can’t you just fucking leave me alone?” he spat, fumbling to get his feet on the ground. They were steadier this time, and when he shoved Dorian away from him, he managed to stand on two feet.

Dorian’s eyes were black in the shadows of chaos. His vision was still slightly wavering so he didn’t notice Dorian’s hand as it grasped the arrow in his shoulder. All he felt was the blistering pain that shot through his whole body. Hamish did cry out this time, sucking in a breath as he fell to one knee. Hamish yelled again from the pain, one hand covering the now heavily bleeding mess that was his shoulder.

“You fucking moustached mother fucker! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Dorian huffed and threw the arrow nonchalantly behind him before raising an eyebrow.

“As the Seeker said – it had to come out.”

“I’ll fucking get you for that,” he hissed, his eyes welling from the sharp pain that still pulsed through him.

“Not if we die tonight, dear. Come on, up up.”

Dorian reached down and dragged him to his feet again, and Hamish didn’t have the fight in him through the pain.

“Oh don’t pout, it doesn’t suit you.”

A sudden cooling sensation started to worm it’s way into his shoulder, followed by blissful numbness. Hamish let out a rush of air, relaxing as that godawful pain started to subside. He knew it was Dorian, healing him, and he was positively brimming with anger but he didn’t have it in him right then to embed his fist into the Tevinter’s face.

Instead he slumped forward, letting only Dorian’s hand on his shoulder steady him.

He swayed when he felt Dorian’s hand pull away, and grounding his teeth he forced himself upright. Hamish brought his hand to his shoulder and pulled it away clean, even though the harsh pulse of the wound still ached. He sent Dorian an icy glare.

“Back to Haven! Herald! Dorian! Go back!”

Cullen was rushing around the clearing, barking orders at the men to leave. Hamish looked up at Dorian, studying him. The Tevinter must have been in the thick of it because his usually perfect hair was frayed, the skin around his mouth pulled tight. Not to mention the blooming bruise starting under his left eye.

Hamish made a mental note to blacken the other one if they survived the night.

~*~

“So, what you’re saying is, we’re fucked?”

Cassandra slammed her hand onto the nearest surface, no doubt to make him jump. Instead Hamish cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms, wincing slightly as his shoulder tugged.

“There are scared people here, Hamish! Can’t you just shut your mouth for two minutes?” hissed the Seeker, glaring at him.

“I’m speaking the truth. Better to tell them now and give them a chance to say goodbye.”

Hamish shrugged, even though all eyes were boring daggers into his face. He hated to say it, but what the fuck were they supposed to believe? The Red Templars attacked from the north, led by someone Cullen once knew – or as far as they could tell. There was nothing but mountains behind them, nothing but a desert of snow to the east and west. It was pretty hopeless, and yet they were demanding he give them answers.

They stood towards the back of the room, under an alcove and away from the wounded that were scattered over the Chantry floor. Hamish sighed and leaned against the wall, farthest in the shadows as Cullen and Leliana talked rapidly under their breath.

The tension was so thick it pressed against his skin, pulsating against his flesh like the mark embedded inside it. 

Everything hurt. Everything ached. His legs were still trembling but he daren’t sit down in fear that he really wouldn’t get back up again. There was still magic residue in his chest, floating around like poison, still circling his core. Everything about that whole ordeal still felt wrong, raw, and Hamish still had that cold gust of vulnerability in his gut.

He heard the slight clip of shoes against the tile flooring, light and softly tread before they stopped in front of him. Hamish didn’t need to glance up to notice the shoes, or to recognize them. He sighed and crossed his arms, almost as if he were protecting himself and holding back the anxiety inside. 

“Here to demand my master plan?” snapped Hamish, gaining a glare from a Sister as she knelt by a wounded man a few steps away. Hamish bore his teeth but stopped himself from biting at her. 

Dorian turned and leaned against the wall, just to Hamish’s left, crossing his palms and resting them in front of him. 

“No,” he said slowly, casually, drawing Hamish’s attention to his face. 

Dorian looked a mess. His hair stuck in all directions, blood was spattered over his usually pristine robes. There were still crimson stains on his hands, specks on his cheeks. The dark circle under the man’s eye had only deepened, and when the man turned to face Hamish’s eyes, the Herald almost jumped out of his skin. 

“But we do have to do something.”

Hamish drew in a long, steady breath and held it into his lungs, hoping to gain some kind of comfort from it. Instead it only made his chest burn. He let the air out in a harsh rush, blowing his fringe from his eyes as he did so. 

“There’s a place…”

Hamish’s eyes, indeed all eyes in the room, were drawn to the man struggling for breath. Chancellor Roderick was pushing against the young woman who was trying to hold him down. The Herald slowly got to his feet just as Leliana and Cassandra stepped forward. The man who could barely open one eye due to swelling, whose torso was soaked with blood, was pushing feebly back at the woman. 

“Let him speak,” said Cullen firmly, and the young girl jumped, her eyes going wide as she stepped away. Roderick fell back but still seemed determined to sit. Hamish was mildly surprised when Dorian stepped forward, kneeling behind the man and supporting him. 

“I know… a path… it’s a pilgrimage path, through the mountains… I happened upon it, stumbling through the overgrowth…”

“Where? Where does it lead?” demanded Cassandra, panic in her voice.

Roderick took in a shaky breath, the gurgling of fluids and blood in his lungs making Hamish cringe. 

“It’s a path beyond the mountains… through them,” he rasped, taking in slow, meaningful breaths as he took the support Dorian offered him. Hamish bit the inside of his lip, glancing around as Leliana and Josephine shared a hopeful smile. 

“We won’t outrun them,” said Hamish, feeling the hope around them tighten and threaten to pop. He hated always having to be the one to say it, but who else would? The Herald gained a few glares before they slumped their shoulders, acknowledging the truth. 

“Unless we can slow them down,” offered the Commander.

“How?” asked the Spymaster, her face half hidden by her hood. 

“The trebuchets!” gasped Cassandra, a small smile on her battered face. “There was one left. We could aim it at the mountain. The avalanche might slow their forces enough for us to run.”

“And who’s going to turn the trebuchet? The last time I saw it, the thing was pointed at the enemy, not the mountains.”

The room seemed deathly quiet as his question hung in the air. He could almost hear the rustle of hair, the creaking of skin as all eyes slowly, hauntingly, turned to him. Hamish felt his shoulders tense, felt the weight of their hopeful stares tickling along his skin. The Herald clamped his mouth shut, because, he realised, he had just answered his own question. 

“You arse holes.”


End file.
